MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 


DWIGHT 
TILTON. 


MY   LADY  LAUGHTER 


MY  LADY 
LAUGHTER 

A    ROMANCE    OF     BOSTON 

TOWN   IN  THE   DAYS  OF 

THE   GREAT   SIEGE 

By 

DWIGHT  TILTON 

Author  of 

"Mils  Petticoats  "  and  "  OH  Satan's  Mount" 
Illustrations  by 

CHARLES  H.  STEPHENS 


Boston,  Mass. 
C.  M.  Clark   Publishing    Co.   (Inc.) 


COPYRIGHT,  1904,  BY 

C.  M.  CLARK  PUBLISHING  COMPANY  (Inc.) 
BOSTON,  MASS.,  U.  S.  A. 

ENTERED  AT  STATIONERS  HALL,  LONDON 


Eights  of  Translation,  Public  Heading  and 
Dramatization  Re»erwd 


CONTENTS 


I  The  Lion's  Whelps  .      .     *     vV<>v    .      'M     1 

II  Toast  and  Prophecy      .     .     *>•''•.*'••»•$•    .      .  10 
HI  A  Woman's  Whim       .     .    ^>'t     ...  16 

IV  A  Night  Alarm       .     .  4-  ;••  vv-  .     ...  22 

V  The  Sons  of  Liberty S3 

VI  Teacher  and  School  Boy     *     v\   ....  45 
VH  At  Dan  MacAlpines 52 

VIII  A  Story  and  a  Sword 58 

IX  On  Common  Ground 66 

X  John  Hancock,  Gentleman 76 

XI  At  Cross  Purposes         84 

XII  Comedy  and  Tragedy         91 

XIII  The  Birthday  Party 103 

XIV  For  a  Sister's  Sake 117 

XV  The  Voice  of  a  Patriot 125 

XVI  A  Scrap  of  Paper 133 

XVII  The  Spinners  at  Tea 143 

XVIII  On  a  Secret  Mission 153 

XIX  An  Episode  of  the  Turnpike 160 

XX  A  Discovery  and  a  Message 171 

XXI  A  Horse  and  Its  Rider 181 

XXII  The  Face  on  the  Pillow  192 


2136*73 


CONTENTS 

xxra 

The  Battle  of  the  Minute-Men     . 

.      .     205 

XXIV 

Giles  Romney  Sees  the  Light  . 

.      .     820 

XXV 

"  A  Spy  Indeed"    

.      .     229 

XXVI 

The  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill     .     . 

.      .     243 

xxvn 

An  Appeal  for  Aid     .... 

.      .     256 

XXVIII 

A  Copy  of  "Horace"     .     .     . 

.      .     263 

XXIX 

The  Fishing    Trip     .... 

271 

XXX 

A  General  and  a  Major 

.      .     282 

XXXI 

The  Riding-School      .... 

291 

XXXII 

The  Twelfth  Night  Masque  .      . 

.      .     302 

XXXIII 

A  "  Yankee  Girl"  

315 

XXXIV 

The  Play  at  Faneuil  Hall     .      . 

.      .     322 

XXXV 

"  Speak  of  Him  no  More  " 

.      .     333 

XXXVI 

Aunt  Tabitha's  Chiding  . 

.      .     342 

XXXVII 

MacAlpine  is  Won  Over  . 

.      .     851 

XXXVIII 

The  Queen's  Ball  

361 

XXXIX 

The  Court  Martial 

374 

XL 

A  Conditional  Pardon 

.      .     381 

XLI 

A    Tender    Temptation     . 

.      .     390 

XLII 

Toby  Gookin  Brings  News 

.      .     399 

XLIH 

The  End  and  the  Means    . 

.      .     405 

XLIV 

"  You  Alone  Can  Save  Him"    . 

.      .     416 

XLV 

The  Troops  Depart     .... 

427 

XLVI 

"Ad's  Wett" 

439 

My  Lady  Laughter 

fw? 

CHAPTER  I 
The  Lion's  Whelps 

broad  windows  of  the  British  Coffee 
JL  House  reflected  with  a  golden  blaze  the 
rays  of  the  wintry-red  afternoon  sun,  which 
touched  the  royal  banner  of  His  Most  Gracious 
Majesty,  King  George  the  Third,  hanging  over 
the  door,  and  glinted  on  the  bayonets  of  the  two 
giant  Grenadiers  who  stood,  statue-like,  at  either 
side  of  the  threshold.  The  bells  of  an  occa- 
sional sledge  tinkled  on  the  crisp  air,  and  the 
heavy  shoes  of  the  good  Bostonians,  soberly  clad 
and  with  faces  made  stern  by  years  of  repression, 
creaked  on  the  hard-trodden  snow. 

Now  and  again,  by  twos  and  threes,  these 
solid  citizens  stopped  before  the  Tory  inn  and 
listened  to  the  sounds  of  merriment  that  came 
like  muffled  music  from  within,  shook  their  heads 
significantly,  and  went  their  ways.  Others  less 
sedate  loitered  about,  ready  to  make  common 
holiday  with  whatever  gaiety  might  be  afoot, 
even  though  they  had  learned  to  hate  the  mili- 
tary force  that  was  sponsor  for  to-day's  fete. 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Was  their  sole  recreation  to  be  always  the  fiery 
pennings  of  Sam  Adams  and  the  vitriolic  retorts 
of  Daniel  Leonard  ?  Because  they  were  Whigs 
could  not  their  eyes  enjoy  a  Tory  show?  And 
the  Queen,  a  lovely  lady  and  friendly  to  Amer- 
ica, —  so  rumor  said,  —  might  they  not  help 
celebrate  her  birthday  without  incurring  the 
displeasure  of  the  mighty  Committee  of  Safety, 
forsooth  ? 

Thus  reasoning  —  for  the  people  of  Boston 
had  become  used  to  reasoning  about  everything 
—  they  collected  into  a  group  and  then  into  a 
crowd  before  the  Coffee  House,  ready  to  show 
respect  to  the  consort  of  the  sovereign  whom 
they  still  trusted,  but  equally  ready  to  resent  any 
affront  to  their  patriotism  on  the  part  of  the  army 
of  his  despised  ministry. 

Down  me  street  from  the  quarters  of  the  Main 
Guard  near  the  Town  House,  came  with  swing- 
ing strides  a  pair  of  scarlet-coated  officers,  their 
young  faces  finely  set  off  by  their  full  dress, 
powolered  wigs  and  cocked  hats.  With  supreme 
arrogance  they  pushed  their  way  through  the  peo- 
ple, apparently  caring  no  more  for  the  muttered 
comments  of  some  of  the  hot-heads  in  the  crowd 
than  for  the  disapproval  of  certain  of  their  own 
well-flogged  soldiers,  who  had  suffered  for  thiev- 
ing that  very  morning.  They  paused  for  a 
moment  on  the  steps  and  looked  over  the  mass 
of  heads  disdainfully. 

"  A  sullen,  rascally  gang,  these  fellows  of  Bos- 
ton, Jack,"  said  the  taller  and  handsomer  of  the 
two.  "Lord,  what  have  they  fed  on  to  make 


THE  LION'S  WHELPS 

'em  such  vinegar  faces  ?  Old  Noll's  psalm-sing- 
ers must  have  been  of  just  such  a  kidney  —  but 
they  could  fight,  history  saith.  I  wonder  if  these 
gentlemen  and  the  rest  of  their  precious  brethren 
in  the  colonies  could  do  as  well. " 

His  companion  laughed  heartily. 

"Fight?  And  does  Dick  Charlton,  of  the 
King's  Own  Fourth,  ask  such  a  question  ?  Egad, 
man,  with  five  regiments  of  Briton  born,  —  a 
vastly  different  breed  from  these  transplanted 
whelps,  d'ye  understand,  —  we  could  march 
from  one  end  of  their  starveling  continent  to 
t'other." 

"  Spoken  like  Capt.  Jack  Mowatt,  pride  of  the 
Tenth,  and  a  true  son  of  Mars,"  replied  Charl- 
ton, with  the  slightest  touch  of  irony,  for  Mow- 
att's  braggadocio  was  familiar  to  the  army, 
"but  don  t  be  sure  they  won't  make  a  proper 
fuss  if  ever  they  get  to  the  right  pitch.  I've 
summered  and  wintered  'em,  and  believe  me, 
Jack,  they're  not  such  curs  as  they're  painted  by 
our  London  wits.  However,  they  won't  trouble 
us  this  afternoon.  Here  come  the  Grenadiers." 

The  blare  of  music  and  the  rataplan  of  drums 
was  heard  up  King  Street,  and  then  there 
wheeled  into  view  the  splendid  great  figures  of 
the  Grenadier  Guard,  their  tall  forms  made  still 
more  imposing  by  the  lofty,  steeple-like  German 
hats  they  wore.  They  halted  opposite  the  Cof- 
fee House,  and  with  them  the  still  larger  com- 
pany of  sight-seers  that  had  been  attracted  by 
the  band. 

Charlton's  eyes  rested  with  soldierly  affection 

[8] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

on  the  magnificent  troop,  typical  of  Britain's 
power,  and  yet,  as  he  mused,  like  Britain  perhaps 
too  great  to  endure.  A  resounding  slap  on  the 
shoulder  brought  him  back  to  the  birthday  of  the 
Queen. 

"Come,  man,  enough  of  those  over-grown 
fellows  for  to-day.  We're  late  already.  D'ye 
want  to  miss  that  rare  new  wine  they  call  hock  ? 
Dietrich,  the  German  major,  had  it  brought 
over,  and  they  say  'tis  amazing  like  a  woman,  — 
of  heavenly  fragrance,  but  just  enough  bite  to  be 
most  tantalizing.  Come  on;  bid  your  sour-belly 
friends  'au  revoir,'  as  barber  Piemont  says." 

The  main  room  of  the  Coffee  House  was  a 
warm  picture  of  light  and  color  and  a  babel  of 
merry  voices  as  the  officers  made  their  way  to 
their  places  at  table.  Candles  had  been  lighted, 
and  tneir  hundred  points  of  light  sparkled  like 
near-by  stars  on  the  armor-trimmed  walls  and 
the  silver-laden  banquet  board.  Flunkies  in 
gorgeous  attire  ran  hither  and  thither,  carrying 
food  and  wine.  Fourscore  officers  in  showy 
uniforms  lined  the  tables,  and  Gage  himself, 
pale  and  careworn,  quaffed  forgetfulness  from 
his  crystal  glass.  The  feasting  was  nearly  over. 
A  huge  boar's  head,  the  former  owner  of  which 
had  been  brought  squealing  over-seas  from  Eng- 
land to  figure  on  this  very  platter,  had  just  been 
borne  in  with  ceremonial  triumph. 

"Good,"  said  Mowatt,  taking  his  seat  and 
eyeing  his  porcine  majesty  approvingly,  "we 
can  eat  little  and  drink  much.  Eh,  Cuyler,  and 
you,  too,  Aylesford?"  — turning  first  to  his 

[4] 


THE  LION'S  WHELPS 

neighbor  and  then  to  his  friend  Charlton  with 
a  bow,  "You  follow  me  with  the  bowl  this  after- 
noon, gentlemen,  I  presume." 

"And  I'll  follow  you  to  quarters  to-morrow 
morning,  when  you're  all  begging  for  something 
to  ease  your  heads,  egad.  And  twill  be  a  bit  of 
bleeding  this  time,  I  warrant  you,  Jack." 

Thus  spoke,  or  rather  shouted  in  a  high- 
pitched  voice  that  seemed  perpetually  on  the 
point  of  dying  away  in  a  whistle,  a  stout,  red- 
raced  little  man,  his  rusty  hair  tied  in  a  natural 
queue,  and  his  coat  drawn  over  his  plump  figure 
as  tight  as  the  skin  of  a  gooseberry.  This  was 
Dr.  Gair,  the  surgeon  of  the  29th,  famed  through- 
out Torydom  for  his  marvelous  efficacy  in 
dispelling  the  malign  results  of  too-lavish  conviv- 
iality, the  guide,  philosopher  and  friend  of  every 
roisterer,  beloved  by  the  whole  army. 

"' Physician,  heal  thyself!"  cried  Charlton, 
raising  aloft  a  tall  glass  of  the  pale  amber  wine 
of  Germany  which  the  younger  man  had  already 
pronounced  fit  for  Anacreon.  "  Drop  that  bum- 
per of  Madeira  for  thy  gout's  sake,  and  test  this 
vintage  of  the  Rhenish  hills.  There's  not  an 
ache  in  a  tun  of  it." 

"Bah,"  retorted  the  little  surgeon,  wrinkling 
his  jolly  face  into  what  he  doubtless  intended  to 
be  a  look  of  contempt.  'You  youngsters  are 
following  false  gods.  My  heart  and  hand  and 
throat  shall  ever  cleave  to  the  good  old  wines  of 
our  grandfathers,  full  of  red  blood  and  —  why, 
bless  my  soul,  bless  my  soul!" 

He  hastily  put  down  his  glass  and  gazed  at  a 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

little  balcony  formed  by  the  first  landing  of  the 
broad  oak  staircase,  behind  whose  balustrades 
sat  a  small  party  of  men  and  women  in  the  hah* 
shadow  of  the  ample  recess.  For  an  instant  he 
stood,  irresolute,  then  rose  abruptly  from  his 
chair. 

"Yes,  'tis  my  old  friend  Giles  Romney,  King's 
Councillor  and  a  true-blue  Tory  if  there's  one 
left  in  Boston.  I  must  have  speech  with  him." 

He  left  his  place  and  rushed  through  the  ranks 
of  banqueters,  a  queer  little  apparition  amid  the 
blaze  of  stalwart  red  and  gold.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  dashed  up  the  staircase  with  a  clatter 
that  was  heard  above  all  the  din  of  revelry,  and 
arrived  flushed  and  wheezing  at  the  landing, 
where  the  officer  friends  he  had  quitted  so  un- 
ceremoniously saw  him  vigorously  pumping  the 
hand  of  a  tall,  elderly  man  wearing  an  old- 
fashioned  peruke  and  dressed  in  black  satin. 

Charlton  turned  languidly  in  his  chair  to  find 
the  cause  of  the  surgeon's  characteristic  out- 
burst. As  he  raised  nis  eyes  to  the  balcony  a 
flush  not  born  of  vintages  spread  over  his  comely 
face,  and  his  eyelids  dropped. 

Not  so  Mowatt's.  That  gay  blade,  having 
caught  sight  of  a  pretty  girl  among  the  visitors, 
gazed  at  her  intently  for  a  full  minute.  Then 
he  proclaimed  his  discovery  triumphantly: 

"Egad,  Dick,  there's  a  rare  bit  of  Boston 
baggage  up  aloft.  Who  is  she  ?  They  say  you 
know  em  all." 

"Which  one?"  asked  his  friend,  with  a  quick 
glance  at  the  damsel. 

[6] 


THE  LION'S  WHELPS 

"  Which  one  ?  Can  you  ask  which  one,  man, 
with  that  goddess  looking  down  on  us  poor  mor- 
tals ?  The  one  with  the  brown-red  hair  in  curls 
and  the  white  lace  what-ye-call-it  around  her 
ravishing  shoulders.  The  one  with  the  lips  that 
look  pursed  for  a  kiss,  and  the  eyes  that  seem  to 
smile  'You  sha'n't,  sir." 

"The  lady  to  whom  you  refer,"  returned  the 
lieutenant  rather  stiffly,  "is  Mistress  Constance 
Drake,  niece  of  the  old  gentleman  there,  Coun- 
cillor Romney." 

'You  know  her?" 

"Yes  —  that  is,  I've  been  presented." 

Mowatt  chuckled  expressively.  'Twon't  do, 
Master  Dick,"  said  he.  "There's  other  knowl- 
edge of  the  fair  Constance  —  egad,  a  name  that 
fits  her,  I  hope  —  than  that  you  have  gained  by 
some  formal  '  How-d'ye-do,  your  devoted  ser- 
vant, madam,'  in  a  drawing-room.  Confess  all, 
you  rascal,  or  I'll  name  you  to  the  room;  I  will, 
pon  honor." 

Charlton's  fine  eyes  flamed  a  bit,  but  he  saw 
that  his  brother  officer,  now  highly  exhilarated  by 
wine,  would  carry  his  threat  to  the  end,  or  at  least 
make  a  scene  of  some  sort.  Himself  in  vinously 
serene  frame  of  mind,  he  felt  no  harm  in  telling 
what  he  knew  of  the  beauty  in  the  gallery. 

"Well,  Jack,"  he  began,  "I  first  saw  Mistress 
Drake  at  mess." 

"How?  — at  mess?" 

"I  was  asked  to  dine  at  the  great  house  on 
Winter  Street  last  year  — " 

"With  Percy?" 

[7] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"The  same.  'Twas  he  who  leased  the  house, 
you  know,  that  he  might  have  a  place  wherein  to 
dine  his  fellow-officers,  and  rare  good  fare  he 
provided,  did  Hugh.  Well,  after  dinner,  as  I 
was  walking  alone  in  the  big  plot  back  of  the 
house,  I  saw  over  in  the  adjoining  garden  the 
neatest,  sweetest  bit  of  young  womankind  since 
old  Eve,  training  some  flowers  and  teasing  a  big 
black  cat  at  the  same  time.  At  last  a  long  rose- 
bush spray  that  she  was  trying  to  nail  up  fell 
over  the  wooden  paling  on  my  side.  You  may 
imagine  that  I  bestirred  myself  to  help  the 
damsel. 

'  *  Can  I  be  of  assistance  to  you  ? '  I  asked,  with 
my  best  Piccadilly  air.  She  merely  smiled  and 
nodded  her  curly  head. 

"  But  I,  lout  that  I  was,  kept  my  eyes  so  hard 
upon  the  roses  in  her  face  that  I  gave  no  heed  to 
tne  bush,  and  as  I  handed  it  back  to  her,  I  tore 
a  thorn-hole  in  my  thumb  that  bled  like  the  very 
devil." 

"And  she  expressed  pretty  concern  and 
dressed  the  wound  for  you,  I'll  be  bound." 

"God's  truth,  Jack,  she  did  nothing  of  the 
sort.  She  laughed  the  most  rippling,  pearly,  ex- 
asperating laugh  man  ever  heard,  and  ran  into 
the  house.  That  was  all  for  that  day." 

"And  —  after?"  asked  Mowatt,  his  dark  eyes 
fixed  with  curious  intentness  on  Charlton's  face. 

"Oh,  after?  No  more  satisfaction.  I  went 
again  to  dine  with  my  Lord  Percy,  but  saw  noth- 
ing of  my  divinity  of  the  garden.  I  thought  I 
heard  an  echo  of  a  girl's  laugh  from  old  Kom- 

[8] 


THE  LION'S  WHELPS 

ney's  house,  but  that  was  perhaps  a  trick  of 
fancy.  Since  that  time  I  have  seen  her  at  some 
of  the  loyal  houses  and  have  talked  with  her, 
too,  but  have  ever  met  with  smiles  and  raillery. 
If  she  can  be  serious,  I  know  it  not.  So  there's 
an  end  on't." 

Mowatt,  all  levity  again,  clapped  his  friend  on 
the  shoulder:  "Marvelous,  and  again  most  mar- 
velous! Lieut.  Dick  Charlton  captured  by  a 
saucy  wench's  laugh!  What  a  text  for  a  farce. 
Ecoa,  I'll  send  it  to  Burgoyne,  for  they  say  he  has 
a  pretty  wit  at  writing  that  sort  of  thing.  If  I 
could  but  hear  her,  now,  I  might  - 

"Hush  thy  nonsense,  Jack.  Gage  is  going  to 
speak,"  warned  Charlton. 

In  the  stillness  that  fell  upon  the  banquet  hall 
as  the  commanding  general  arose,  there  came 
from  the  gallery  a  little  peal  of  merriment  as 
clear  and  musical  as  the  tinkle  of  crystal.  Some- 
thing had  amused  Mistress  Constance  Drake. 

Captain  Mowatt  grasped  Charlton's  arm,  and 
leaned  to  the  ear  of  his  comrade. 

"S'truth,  Dick,"  he  whispered,  "you're  right; 
'tis  the  sweetest  challenge  a  woman  e'er  gave." 


CHAPTER  II 
Toast  and  Prophecy 

WHEN  Dr.   Gair  had   finished   his   lively 
welcome  to  Councillor  Romney  and  his 
niece,  he  sat  quiescent  to  regain  the  breath  that 
his  rapid  ascent  of  the  stairs  had  well-nigh  ex- 
pended. 

"I  scarce  expected  you  here  this  afternoon, 
friend  Romney,"  he  said  at  length.  "I  know 
well  enough  that  your  neighbors  will  like  you 
none  the  better  for  hearing  that  you  were  at  the 
military  dinner." 

"A  plague  on  them!"  replied  the  old  man 
testily.  'They  can  do  me  no  harm,  and  he  who 
laughs  last  laughs  best.  I  came  here,  sir,  to 
drink  the  health  of  our  gracious  Queen  Char- 
lotte, and  by  the  Lord  Harry!  I'd  do  it  were  the 
room  packed  with  Whigs." 

"And  so  you  shall,  sir,"  cried  the  surgeon, 
leaning  over  the  balustrade,  and  shouting  a 
wheezy  command  to  a  serving-man  to  bring 
port. 

"And  you,  fair  Connie,"  he  went  on,  "you 
are  here  to  show  your  good  Tory  colors,  like- 
wise ?  " 

The  girl  laughed.  She  and  the  doctor  were 
pleasant  antagonists  in  the  game  of  banter. 

[<*] 


TOAST  AND  PROPHECY 

"They  say,  do  they  not,  that  we  women  should 
never  wear  our  hearts  on  our  sleeve?" 

;' You'll  ne'er  betray  yourself  that  way,  young 
lady,  don't  fear,  for  I'll  be  sworn  that  you  have 
no  heart  at  all.  But  you,  too,  will  drink  to  our 
Queen?" 

"With  all  the  heart  that  I  haven't  got.  Yet 
this  toast  sounds  not  like  that." 

"No,"  returned  Dr.  Gair,  gaily,  "but  'tis  one 
that  includes  all  queens.  And  since  'tis  'The 
Ladies,'  why,  who  should  be  getting  up  to  re- 
spond but  Dick  Charlton  ?  Happy  dog!  They 
all  love  him." 

Constance  noted  with  feminine  approval  the 
tall,  slender  figure  and  well-chiseled  face  of  the 
lieutenant.  He  seemed  the  fitting  centre  of  a 
brilliant  picture,  and  the  girl's  artistic  sense  was 
pleased.  Now  he  was  speaking,  and  she  found 
herself  listening  eagerly. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "my  poor  tongue  is 
too  weak  to  sound  the  praises  of  the  whole  lovely 
sex.  I  am  a  soldier,  as  are  we  all,  and  blunt  of 
speech.  So  in  lieu  of  an  oration  that  would  but 
weary  you  and  betray  my  own  shortcomings,  I 
propose  the  health  of  the  loveliest  of  wom- 
ankind, the  most  bewitching  creature  in  the 
province." 

Holding  his  wine-glass  aloft,  he  raised  his 
flushed,  handsome  face  to  the  balcony  and 
gazed  straight  into  Constance's  eyes. 

"Her  name;  her  name!"  was  shouted  from 
place  to  place  as  the  officers  prepared  to  drink. 

"I  give  you  — 

[11] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Constance's  face  was  burning  now,  and  she 
felt  a  wild  desire  to  escape,  but  that,  she  knew, 
would  make  her  situation  the  more  embarrass- 
ing- 

'  Oh,  he  can  never  do  it,  he  can  never  do  it," 

she  murmured  in  an  agony  of  apprehension. 
Still  she  returned  his  gaze  steadfastly.  What  he 
saw  there  must  have  shown  him  the  needless 
cruelty  of  his  intent. 

"I  give  you  My  Lady — My  Lady  Laughter." 

"Ha,  ha,  'My  Lady  Laughter,'-  -the  health 
of  'My  Lady  Laughter'  —  neatly  put  —  drink 
deep  to  the  wench,  '  roared  the  soldiers  in  un- 
steady chorus,  as  glass  rang  upon  glass,  and 
sworas  clanged  upon  the  chairs.  They  had 
their  toast  and  they  drank  it  royally,  asking 
nothing  further. 

Had  Charlton  seen  the  look  of  gratitude  in 
the  girl's  eyes,  he  would  have  had  troubled 
dreams  that  night.  But  he  gazed  into  the  gal- 
lery no  more. 

'  But  —  hie  —  who  the  —  hie  —  devil  is  '  My 
Lady  Laughter'?"  asked  Ensign  Cuyler,  not 
quite  too  gloriously  drunk  to  forget  that  mystery 
still  hung  over  Charlton's  toast. 

Mowatt,  his  neighbor,  smiled  sardonically. 
"When  you're  sober,  Tom,  ask  Dick  Charlton. 
Then  if  he  wants  to  pink  you,  you'll  be  better 
able  to  care  for  your  precious  skin." 

The  toasts  were  now  coming  thick  and  fast, 
and  were  growing  pronouncedly  political.  After 
each  sentiment  was  drunk,  the  officers  gave 
three  huzzas,  and  a  man  was  sent  to  the  balcony 

[12] 


TOAST  AND  PROPHECY 

overlooking  the  street  to  shout  it  to  the  Grena- 
diers. Then  could  be  heard  the  braying  of  the 
band,  made  hoarse  by  the  nipping  frost,  and  at 
the  end  the  long  roll  of  the  barrel-drums. 

"The  sixteenth  of  April,  '46  —  a  like  chas- 
tisement to  all  rebels,"  cried  the  master  of  cere- 
monies. The  officers  answered  with  a  maudlin 
roar,  for  wine  had  been  discarded  for  brandy. 

"W'a's  sisteenth  April,  for'-six?"  asked  the 
drunken  Ensign  Cuyler. 

"Culloden,  you  dolt,"  growled  Mowatt.  "De- 
feat of  the  Young  Pretender." 

"Coursh;  know  all  'bout  it.  Three  cheersh 
f'r  'Young  Pr'tender." 

No  one  heard  this  treasonable  remark,  for  a 
new  element  had  entered  into  the  festivities. 
As  the  toast  was  greeted  with  the  drum-beat 
outside,  there  came  from  the  street  a  low,  threat- 
ening sound  like  the  murmur  of  a  winter  sea, 
and  then,  like  the  hissing  of  its  foam,  a  long 
sibilant  whose  meaning  was  clear  enough  to  the 
soldiers  at  the  table. 

"Ha!  The  rascals  are  pricked,"  cried  Charl- 
ton.  "Small  wonder,  if  they  have  any  man- 
hood. Put  ourselves  in  their  places,  Jack." 

"Confusion  to  the  American  Army,"  came 
next,  and  again  the  threatening  growl  from  the 
street,  louder  and  more  like  the  menace  of  an 
angry  animal.  Many  a  redcoat  officer  jumped 
to  nis  feet,  and  many  a  right  hand  sought  its 
sword-hilt. 

Up  in  the  landing  of  the  stairway  a  girl  lis- 
tened to  the  tumult,  with  eyes  dilated  and  a 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

quick-beating  heart.  Half-timorous,  yet  as  if 
fascinated  by  the  execrations  of  the  populace, 
she  persuaded  her  uncle  to  follow  her  around 
the  gallery  to  a  front  window  from  which  she 
could  see  and  hear. 

A  strapping  Grenadier  with  bared  head  came 
upon  the  oalcony  and  roared : 

"The  toast  is:  'Lord  North — long  life  and 
success  to  him." 

The  strivings  of  the  players,  whose  extended 
cheeks  and  bulging  eyes  gave  testimony  to  their 
good  intent,  were  wholly  swallowed  up  in  the 
vortex  of  shouts,  groans,  hoots  and  hisses.  The 
drummers  wagged  their  hands  manfully,  but  no 
sounds  came  from  their  drumheads.  The  an- 
nouncer's face  was  distorted  with  rage. 

"Lord  North!"  he  bellowed  again,  when  the 
uproar  had  in  a  measure  subsided. 

"Damn  him!"  came  in  immense  volume  from 
the  throat  of  a  herculean  lout  of  a  fellow  standing 
just  below  the  balcony.  He  waved  his  long 
arms  as  if  beckoning  to  his  comrades  to  join 
him  in  the  sack  of  the  Coffee  House. 

"And  I  say  bless  him!  "  roared  the  announcer. 

"Damn  him!"  "To  perdition  with  him!" 
"Hanging's  too  good  for  him!"  screamed  the 
crowd.  And  this  from  the  same  men  who  a 
half-hour  before  had  cheered  the  name  of  the 
King! 

A  thousand  men  and  boys  now  surged  through 
King  Street,  swaying  this  way  and  that  with  me 
characteristic  motion  of  a  mob.  It  needed  but 
a  wrathful  push  from  any  direction  to  become  a 

[14] 


TOAST  AND  PROPHECY 

mad  torrent  that  must  be  dammed  by  steel. 
This  was  seen  and  comprehended  by  me  com- 
mander of  the  Grenadiers,  who  gave  orders  to 
clear  the  street. 

Sullenly,  and  with  yells,  jeers,  and  hisses,  the 
crowd  melted  away  before  the  ugly  points  of 
bayonets,  that  often  pricked  as  well  as  threat- 
ened. Little  by  little  the  sounds  of  anger  died 
upon  the  night  air,  and  quiet  ruled  outside  the 
Coffee  House. 

The  girl  at  the  window  turned  to  her  uncle 
with  saadened  face.  "  Uncle,"  she  said  simply, 
almost  as  a  child,  "I  am  afraid." 

The  confident  old  Tory's  pride  was  up  in  arms 
on  the  instant. 

"Nonsense,  Connie,"  he  returned,  sharply, 
"is  not  the  King's  army,  in  this  year  of  grace 
'75,  strong  enough  to  keep  a  mob  in  check? 
Never  fear;  we'll  get  home  safely  enough." 

Constance  looked  at  the  kind-hearted  old  man 
with  something  far-away  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  see,"  she  exclaimed  earnestly. 
"  Not  for  to-night  do  I  fear,  but  for  the  days  that 
are  to  come." 


[15) 


CHAPTER  III 
A  Woman's  Whim 

NIGHT  had  come  upon  King  Street  as  Con- 
stance and  her  uncle,  the  former  again 
sparkling  with  the  effervescence  of  youth,  the 
latter  still  fuming  against  the  madness  of  Whig- 
gery,  came  from  the  Coffee  House  and  started 
on  their  homeward  way.  The  thoroughfare  was 
almost  unlighted,  for  a  fine  young  moon  was 
sailing  the  southern  sky,  and  the  thrifty  town 
always  took  advantage  of  that  illuminator. 
Here  and  there  the  glimmer  from  the  shop  of 
some  belated  merchant  threw  its  feeble  rays 
across  the  sidewalk,  and  a  more  powerful  ra- 
diance came  from  the  Main  Guard's  quarters; 
but  after  they  had  been  passed,  and  the  Town 
House  rounded,  the  pair  found  Cornhill  almost 
without  signs  of  life. 

"How  quiet  the  town  is,  Uncle  Giles,"  re- 
marked the  girl;  "too  quiet,  I  think.  Oh,  how 
I  would  like  to  see  some  of  the  bustle  and  light  of 
London  we  are  always  hearing  of  -  -  Vauxhall 
and  Ranelagh  and  Piccadilly.  Shall  I  ever  get 
away  from  this  dull  and  solemn  place?" 

"Quiet  enough  at  this  moment,  Connie,"  re- 
turned the  Councillor,  ignoring  his  niece's  ques- 
tion. "But  'tis  a  kind  of  quiet  I  have  no  faith 

[16] 


A  WOMAN'S  WHIM 

in,  egad.  'Tis  most  like  those  silly  Sons  of 
Liberty  are  even  now  crowded  in  some  attic  or 
tavern  back-room  plotting  how  they  may  disturb 
the  peace.  But  we'll  home  and  to  bed.  Your 
Aunt  Tabitha  will  have  expected  us  long  since." 

"Nay,  uncle,  not  home;  never  home  so  early," 
exclaimed  the  girl  with  petulant  pleading.  Her 
piquant  face,  surrounded  by  her  hood  of  dark 
velvet,  took  on  its  most  imperious  look. 

Giles  Romney  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Not  home?  Pray  where,  then,  Miss  Im- 
pertinence?" 

"  Why,  to  —  to  Governor  Gage's." 

"To  Governor  Gage's  —  and  wherefore?" 

His  "wherefore"  trie  good  old  Tory  always 
regarded  as  his  trump  card  of  impressiveness. 
If  that  failed,  he  knew  all  was  lost. 

"Wherefore,  wherefore,  wherefore,"  she 
chanted,  mockingly.  'You  know  wherefore 
perfectly  well,  you  dear  old  uncle.  'Tis  about 
the  poor  and  their  wretchedness  that  has  made 
this  winter  so  sad.  You  told  me  only  last  night 
that  you  would  have  speech  with  the  Governor 
on  the  matter." 

"  But  the  General  is  not  at  the  Province  House; 
the  banquet  —  or,  at  least,  the  drinking  —  is 
still  afoot." 

"The  Governor  took  leave  before  we  did," 
returned  Constance,  in  triumph;  "you'll  trust 
my  eyes  for  that,  I'll  be  bound.  Come;  let  us 
seek  audience  with  him." 

The  Councillor  made  no  reply,  but  as  they 
walked  along  he  alternately  cursed  his  gout, 

U71 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

which  the  wine  had  already  begun  to  start  into 
diabolical  activity,  and  the  Patriots  of  Boston, 
whom  he  could  look  upon  only  as  reckless  mar- 
plots. Often  he  preached  to  Connie  until  she 
knew  his  sentiments  and  arguments  by  heart. 
To-night  he  was  in  the  mood  again. 

"Look  at  our  wharves,  and  warehouses,  and 
shops,"  he  growled,  "  all  as  dead  as  a  graveyard, 
thanks  to  these  agitators  who  prate  about  'lib- 
erty,' forsooth,  but  want  no  good  Loyalist  to  have 
any.  They're  part  calves,  part  fools,  and  the 
rest  knaves,  to  oring  the  town  to  such  a  pass. 
O-o-oh,  that  damned  toe!  A  little  slower,  Con- 
nie, girl,  just  a  little  slower." 

They  had  now  reached  Marlborough  Street, 
and  the  tall  brick  mass  of  the  handsome  Province 
House  loomed  ahead  in  the  moonlight*  A  little 
nearer  and  they  could  see  a  shimmer  on  the 
gilded  Indian  that  surmounted  the  apex  of  the 
peaked  cupola.  Connie  knew  that  her  desired 
move  in  the  game  was  at  hand.  As  they  passed 
the  first  of  the  small  porter's  lodges  in  front  of 
the  mansion,  Councillor  Romney's  gout  gave  a 
preternaturally  savage  twinge,  and  he  stopped 
under  the  shadow  of  a  large  tree  and  leaned 
heavily  on  his  gold-headed  cane.  Then,  like  a 
pretty  sprite,  Constance  glided  away  to  the  sen- 
try at  the  gate,  and  came  back  with  her  face  full 
of  delight. 

"He's  within,  the  Governor's  within,  Uncle 
Giles,"  she  cried,  "I  have  it  from  the  sentry 
himself.  Now,  there's  no  excuse  for  our  not 

[181 


A  WOMAN'S  WHIM 

entering,  is  there?  And  you  need  the  rest  so 
much,'  she  added,  with  wonderful  compassion. 

But  the  testy  old  gentleman  was  not  yet 
conquered.  "Nay,  nay,  Connie,  'tis  useless. 
'T  would  ill  befit  me  to  call  upon  the  Governor 
at  this  time  of  night  without  an  appointment." 

The  minx  laughed  at  her  old  uncle.  "And 
you  a  King's  councillor!  Prithee,  then,  what's 
the  use  of  being  hooted  in  the  streets  by  raga- 
muffin boys,  if  you  are  to  be  so  wondrous  humble 
at  Province  House?  Nay,  we  are  going  in." 

The  Councillor  had  lost  the  game. 

The  sentry  at  the  gate  knew  Romney,  and 
admitted  the  pair  without  hesitation.  The  old 
gentleman  stumped  along  the  deep  courtyard, 
dreading  the  stone  steps  that  must  be  climbed 
before  the  door  was  gained,  but  with  Constance's 
vigorous  assistance  these  were  surmounted,  and 
they  found  themselves  under  the  great  porch 
with  the  fine  Greek  pillars  that  were  the  pride 
of  the  town. 

At  the  door  a  solemn  Scotch  corporal  barred 
progress  and  absolutely  declined  to  listen  to  rea- 
son. Constance  saluted  with  military  precision 
and  complete  gravity,  at  which  the  soldier  looked 
sheepish,  but  still  refused  to  be  persuaded. 

"We  would  see  the  Governor,  corporal," 
said  the  girl,  sharply.  "This  is  Councillor 
Romney  and  I  am  Mistress  Constance  Drake." 

"I  hae  owders  tae  admeet  nae  mon  the  nicht," 
returned  the  guard,  "an'  I  maun  obey  them." 

"But  I'm   not   a   man,"   flashed   Constance, 


[19] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  just  flickered  in  the  cor- 
ners of  the  Scot's  thin  mouth. 

"By  'mon'  was  meant  the  human  race,  I  hae 
noo  doobt,  an'  ye  belang  tae  that,  dinna  ye?" 

"Y-e-es." 

;*Then  ye  canna  come  in." 

"Well,  you  can  at  least  call  your  superior 
officer,  for  him  I  would  see  at  once."  Connie 
spoke  with  great  dignity  now,  and  the  corporal, 
a  good-natured  fellow  enough,  nodded  and 
passed  into  the  hall.  Presently  he  returned, 
and  then  there  followed  a  fine  young  officer,  still 
in  full  uniform,  his  sword  jangling  as  he  walked. 

"My  Lord  Rawdon?"  exclaimed  Constance, 
in  pretty  surprise,  "  why,  I  thought  you  had  been 
detailed  to  the  Castle." 

The  officer  bowed  with  careful  ceremony. 

"I  was;  but  only  for  a  time.  For  the  present, 
I  am  of  the  Governor's  personal  guard.  But  in 
what  can  I  serve  you,  Mistress  Drake?" 

"  We  would  have  audience  with  the  Governor." 

"'Tis  but  a  mere  form,  but  I  must  carry 
your  names  to  His  Excellency.  I  will  return 
instanter." 

Again  the  clanking  in  and  the  clanking  out. 

"Governor  Gage's  compliments  to  Councillor 
Romney,  and  he  will  be  pleased  to  see  you,  sir," 
said  my  Lord,  with  words  for  the  stout  old  Tory, 
but  eyes  for  the  slender  maid  who  stood  beside 
him.  And,  in  truth,  a  prettier  picture  did  not 
hang  within  on  the  walls  of  old  Province  House, 
noted  for  its  paintings  of  fair  women. 

Constance  felt  the  insistent  admiration  in  the 

[20] 


A  WOMAN'S  WHIM 

look,  but  she  met  it  serenely  for  a  moment,  then 
dropped  her  lids  and  sank  into  a  low,  billowing 
courtesy. 

"We  are  your  debtors,  my  Lord,"  she  half- 
whispered,  sending  him  a  flashing  smile  that 
quite  enraptured  the  rather  dull,  but  good- 
humored  and  susceptible  officer.  He  hastened 
to  escort  them  with  elaborate  politeness  through 
the  great  doors  and  into  the  splendid  colonial 
hall,  where  Constance  marveled  at  its  brilliantly 
papered  walls  and  the  huge  staircase  that  rose 
majestically  to  the  very  top  of  the  house.  Be- 
fore the  entrance  to  a  room  half-way  down  the 
hall,  Lord  Rawdon  stopped  and  waved  the  pair 
inside. 

For  an  instant  he  stood  watching  Mistress 
Drake,  feasting  his  eyes  on  the  girlish  grace  with 
which  she  walKed  toward  the  Governor.  Then 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders  resignedly  and  walked 
away. 

"With  such  women,  why  should  not  the  ras- 
cals fight?"  was  his  thought. 


[tl] 


A 


CHAPTER  IV 
A  Night  Alarm 

S  Constance  and  her  uncle  entered  the 
audience-room,  in  which  a  painting  of 
George  III  had  the  place  of  honor  over  an  elab- 
orately carved  marble  fireplace,  they  saw  that 
Governor  Gage  was  not  alone,  but  was  engaged 
in  lively  conversation  with  a  lady.  As  Con- 
stance guessed,  this  was  Mrs.  Gage,  a  pleasant- 
faced  woman,  whose  New  York  ancestry  seemed 
at  one  time  to  be  an  element  of  hope  for  the  col- 
onists. She  rose  and,  with  her  husband,  came 
forward,  smiling,  to  greet  the  visitors. 

"  Welcome  to  Province  House,  friend  Romney, 
and  you,  too,  Mistress  Drake,"  said  Gage. 
"You  find  us  with  official  duties  thrown  off  lor 
the  nonce.  Let  me  present  you  to  Mistress 
Gage." 

This  ceremony  having  been  duly  performed, 
the  Councillor  felt  in  duty  bound  to  apologize 
for  the  somewhat  unconventional  call. 

"  I  came  here,  sir,  at  the  solicitation  of  my  niece, 
who  would  not  be  denied,"  he  declared.  "She 
would  listen  to  nothing  but  that  I  plead  with  you 
for  the  King's  aid  for  the  suffering  poor  of  the 
town." 

"And  never  have  the  poor  had  fairer  advo- 
[2*] 


A  NIGHT  ALARM 

cate,"  was  the  gallant  reply.  "Surely  George 
himself  might  well  listen  to  such  a  one.  Pray 
sit,  Councillor  Romney,  and  we  will  talk  the 
thing  over.  Mistress  Gage  will  take  your  charm- 
ing niece  in  charge,  and  give  her  such  enter- 
tainment as  the  house  affords." 

The  women  withdrew  to  a  far  corner  of  the 
room.  On  a  table  a  large  portfolio  was  lying 
open. 

"Here  are  the  complete  plates  of  the  great 
Mr.  Hogarth,  the  first,  I  believe,  in  Boston," 
said  Mrs.  Gage.  "Some  of  them  are  not  for 
maids  like  you,  my  dear,  but  those  I  will  turn 
over  quickly." 

With  an  appearance  of  interest  in  the  prints, 
Constance  could  catch  snatches  of  the  conver- 
sation of  the  men.  She  heard  her  uncle  describ- 
ing the  sufferings  of  the  poor,  as  seen  and  told 
by  herself. 

"  She  has  a  fancy  for  playing  the  Good  Samar- 
itan in  some  dull  quarters  of  the  town,"  con- 
cluded the  Councillor. 

"And  it  does  her  heart  credit,"  replied  Gage. 
"I  know  as  well  as  you  the  hardships  caused 
among  the  lower  classes  by  the  closing  of  the 
port,  but  they  have  only  themselves  to  blame. 
Fools,  Mr.  Romney,  fools,  in  time  of  prosperity, 
when  trade  was  good,  food  cheap  and  taxes 
light,  to  court  ruin  for  a  theory." 

"Well,  they  have  their  failings,  like  all  of  us," 
sighed  the  old  man.  "Let  us  not  forget  that 
they  are  warm-hearted  and  easily  led  in  a  matter 

[23] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

where  what  they  think  their  liberties  are  con- 
cerned." 

"Easily  led,  in  very  truth,"  cried  the  General, 
hotly,  "  when  such  a  dolt  as  this  Samuel  Adams, 
a  man,  egad,  who's  frittered  away  his  own  patri- 
mony bit  by  bit,  and  whom  they  say  is  half-sup- 
ported by  Hancock,  whose  orations  he  writes, 
has  a  ring  in  all  of  their  precious  noses." 

"He's  a  most  magnetic  orator,"  ventured 
Romney,  in  spite  of  himself  inclined  to  pride  in 
his  forceful  fellow-citizen;  "  I  remember  when— 

"That's  it,  talk!"  replied  Gage,  "talk,  nothing 
but  talk!  That's  what  bade  fair  to  ruin  these 
colonies.  Talk  and  their  eternal  public  meetings. 
Thanks  to  the  regulations  act,  there'll  be  no 
more  of  them  —  at  least,  not  in  Boston,  though, 
confound  it,  Romney,  the  upstarts  hold  their 
town  meetings  without  the  town!" 

The  Councillor  twirled  his  gold-headed  cane 
between  thumb  and  forefinger  thoughtfully. 

"In  truth,  sir,"  he  said,  slowly,  "I  do  regret 
that  His  Majesty's  ministers  have  seen  fit  to 
check  the  right  of  free  speech.  You  know,  Gen- 
eral, there's  nothing  like  bottling  up  a  brew  to 
make  it  more  potent." 

"Ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  General,  loudly,  "a 
very  apt  simile,  egad.  With  the  fortifications 
and  the  arriving  soldiers  these  timorous,  would- 
be  rebels  will  be  bottled  up  of  a  surety."  Again 
he  laughed,  pleased  with  his  own  wit. 

None  of  this  latter  talk  had  escaped  Con- 
stance. "  I  wonder  if  it  may  not  prove  that  the 

[24] 


A  NIGHT  ALARM 

*  bottling  up '  will  be  that  of  the  Loyalists  in  Bos- 
ton," she  ventured  to  Mrs.  Gage,  demurely. 

That  good  lady  looked  up  from  "The  Rake's 
Progress"  with  a  question  in  her  mild  blue  eyes, 
but  ere  she  could  frame  it  in  speech,  the  Gover- 
nor went  on. 

"As  for  the  poor,  let  Adams  and  Hancock  and 
the  addle-pated  Otis  and  that  ilk  look  to  'em. 
The  King's  officers  have  other  business  than  to 
furnish  antidote  for  presumptuous  folly." 

Constance's  dimpled  chin  lifted  itself  into  the 
air  and  her  brown  eyes  snapped.  As  the  Gen- 
eral left  his  chair  and  walked  toward  her,  she, 
too,  arose  and  met  him  half-way.  The  doughty 
Soldier  saw  an  expression  on  her  pretty  face  that 
somehow  brought  him  to  a  halt. 

"Well,  Mistress  Drake,"  he  began,  half- 
amused,  half -impressed,  "what  have  you  to  say 
to  the  folly  of  these  rebels  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir.  But  is  it  folly  to  be  hungry  — 
to  starve  —  women  and  little  children  ?  They 
are  not  politicians.  The  King  can  make  no  war 
on  them." 

"The  King,"  returned  Gage,  solemnly  and 
with  a  look  of  profound  devotion  at  the  comely 
young  face  of  the  portrait  over  the  mantel,  "the 
King  makes  war  on  no  one  here.  He  and  his 
officers  but  enforce  the  law." 

'Your  pardon,  your  Excellency,  but  is  it  law 
that  the  helpless  shall  suffer  for  the  presumption 
of  strong  men?" 

Councillor  Romney's  face  reddened  with  vexa- 
tion. A  chit  of  a  girl,  and  a  niece  of  his,  for- 

[25] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

sooth,  dare  fling  back  such  a  retort  to  the  Gen- 
eral of  all  the  forces. 

"Constance,  girl,"  he  said,  sharply,  "I  — " 

"  Let  the  girl  go  on.  I  am  sure  she  has  a  ten- 
der heart,  and  we  women  cannot  look  on  these 
things  as  lightly  as  you  men." 

It  was  sweet-faced  Mrs.  Gage  who  interposed. 
Constance  threw  her  a  quick  glance  of  gratitude, 
and  the  Governor  looked  indulgently  at  his  wife. 
He  was  ever  the  lover,  even  in  the  midst  of  war's 
alarms. 

;' Yes,  friend  Romney,  let  Mistress  Drake  pro- 
ceed,'* he  said.  ''We  are  apt  to  forget  the  hu- 
manities in  the  study  of  the  realities.' 

Then  Constance,  with  charming  earnestness, 
poured  forth  the  story  of  her  discoveries,  her 
visits,  her  womanly  but  insufficient  ministra- 
tions to  those  who  were  being  ground  between 
the  millstone  of  the  Tories  and  me  Patriots.  A 
colder  heart  than  Gage's  would  have  been 
touched  at  the  recital. 

''What  would  you  have  me  do,  Mistress 
Drake?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

"Nothing  but  an  act  of  common  humanity. 
Have  the  condition  of  these  people,  too  numer- 
ous for  individual  charity  to  relieve,  looked  to, 
and  give  of  the  government  store.  You  and 
your  soldiers  have  plenty." 

General  Gage  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully, 
and  a  grim  smile  flitted  across  his  face. 

"Aye,  we  still  have  plenty,"  he  replied,  "but 
to  get  it  required  almost  as  much  labor  as  to 
quell  the  antics  of  your  townspeople.  Egad, 

[26] 


A  NIGHT  ALARM 

sir,"  turning  to  old  Romney,  "it  was  only  t'other 
day  that  a  Menotomy  farmer,  whose  potatoes 
an  officer  in  charge  of  a  foraging  party  tried  to 
buy,  swore  he'd  rot  with  'em  rather  than  sell 
them  to  a  redcoat.  Now,  what  think  you  of 
that  for  folly?" 

"And  what,  sir,  did  the  foragers  do?"  asked 
the  Councillor. 

"  Emptied  his  bin,"  replied  Gage,  with  a  short 
laugh.  Then  noting  Constance's  scornful  face 
he  added:  "Oh,  we  paid  for  them,  young  lady. 
Not  your  absurd  market  prices,  perhaps,  but 
good  money.  .  .  .  But  your  pensioners  shall  be 
looked  to.  I'll  do  what  I  can.  For  proof  that  I 
am  not  a  hard  man,  ask  Mistress  Gage  there, 
and  then  give  her  a  list  of  your  proteges." 

Constance  made  a  little  grimace  of  victory  at 
her  uncle.  Then  she  thanked  the  Governor 
prettily  and  turned  to  the  Governor's  wife  to 
give  her  the  list.  At  the  moment  an  orderly  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway  and  saluted. 

'Your  errand,  sir?"  said  Gage,  in  his  cold, 
military  voice. 

"One  John  Mildmay  has  appealed  to  Major 
Courtney  of  the  Main  Guard  for  protection," 
was  the  answer. 

A  councillor,  is  he  not?"  queried  the  Gov- 
ernor, turning  to  Romney. 

'Yes,  from  Billerica.  He  has  lodged  here 
since  his  appointment." 

"King's  councillors  are  not  popular  in  the 
country,  I  suspect,"  smiled  the  commander. 
"Well,  what  does  he  fear?" 

[27] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

The  orderly  grinned. 

"A  night  or  two  ago  some  townspeople 
tarred  and  feathered  his  house.  To-night,  after 
they  were  driven  from  the  streets  near  the  Coffee 
House,  it  seems  some  of  the  mob  gathered  before 
his  door  and  dared  him  to  come  forth." 

"And  be  tarred  and  feathered,  too,"  grimly 
observed  Gage.  "Oh,  well,  let  him  have  a  cor- 
poral and  a  couple  of  men  for  a  few  nights." 

The  soldier  saluted  and  walked  briskly  out. 
Old  Romney  grasped  his  cane  more  firmly  and 
prepared  for  his  hobbling  march  to  his  home. 

"Shall  I  not  furnish  you  an  escort,  friend 
Romney,"  suggested  Gage,  with  perhaps  as 
single  an  eye  for  the  comfort  of  the  pretty  damsel 
as  for  the  safety  of  the  old  man. 

"Escort — pooh!  Not  for  me,  sir,  not  for 
me,"  was  the  rather  haughty  reply. 

"But  you  are  a  King's  councillor." 

;<  Yes,  and  of  Boston  born  and  bred.  There's 
no  one  here  would  raise  his  hand  against  me. 
They  know  I  do  what  I  think  right  and  fear  no 
one.  .  .  .  Please  God  that  these  troublous  times 
may  soon  end." 

"Amen  to  that,"  was  Mrs.  Gage's  fervent 
commentary. 

After  leaving  Province  House  and  the  cordial 
parting  word  of  its  occupants,  Constance  and  the 
Councillor  turned  up  Rawson's  Lane.  The  moon 
had  sunk  low  by  this  time  and  the  narrow  street 
was  almost  in  darkness.  As  they  passed  Gover- 
nor's Alley  the  girl's  keener  ears  caught  the 

[28] 


A  NIGHT  ALARM 

sounds  of  some  sort  of  human  commotion  in  the 
distance  ahead. 

"Hark!     What  is  that?"  she  whispered. 

Her  uncle  ceased  pounding  the  icy  stones  with 
his  cane  and  listened.  Then  he  snorted  angrily: 

"Humph!  Some  new  deviltry  of  the  Sons  of 
Liberty,  I'll  warrant.  Mayhap  they  have  got 
at  old  Mildmay  again.  But  nothing  to  harm 
us,  Connie,  so  let's  oe  on." 

The  tumult  increased,  and  at  Longacre,  near 
the  Common,  it  suddenly  became  emoodied  in  a 
struggling  mass  of  dimly  outlined  red  and  black, 
in  the  vortex  of  which  waved  clenched  fists,  sticks 
and  swords.  Yells  of  derision,  maudlin  curses, 
and  growls  of  anger  filled  the  air. 

Romney  and  the  girl  stepped  into  a  convenient 
shadow  and  watched  the  miniature  conflict. 
All  at  once  the  dark-coated  forms  made  off  in  a 
body,  laughing  and  shouting  one  of  the  patriotic 
songs  of  me  day. 

As  the  pair  left  their  place  of  safety  a  couple  of 
British  officers  swaggered  down  upon  them. 
Constance's  feminine  instinct  quickly  took  alarm. 

"Let  us  turn,  and  go  home  the  other  way," 
she  suggested. 

"Nonsense,  girl,"  returned  the  stout  old 
Loyalist,  "  see  you  not  they  wear  the  King's  uni- 
form?" 

At  this  the  roisterers  were  upon  them,  leering 
insolently  at  the  figure  of  Constance. 

"Oho,  Jack!  whom  have  we  skulking  here?" 
said  one. 

"As  I  live,  a  petticoat,  Aylesford,"  laughed 

[29] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Mowatt,  his  imagination  flaring  up  on  the  in- 
stant. 

"Trust  you  for  that,  egad,"  returned  his  com- 
panion. "You'd  spot  one  if  'twere  dark  as 
Erebus." 

"Aye,  and  having  found  this  one  on  such  a 
glorious  night,  I  swear  its  owner  must  pay 
King's  ransom  —  a  kiss.  Come,  pretty  one, 
—  for  you  are  pretty,  I  swear,  though  I  scarce 
see  your  face  —  a  kiss." 

"By  God,  sir!"  shouted  old  Romney,  blazing 
with  wrath  as  he  stepped  forward  to  protect  his 
niece,  "you  disgrace  the  uniform  you  wear. 
Had  I  my  sword  I'd  run  your  miserable  body 
through." 

"Tut,  tut,  ancient  sir,"  sneered  Mowatt,  as 
he  pushed  the  Councillor  aside,  "you  excite 
yourself  unduly.  'Tis  but  one  little  token  of 
loyalty  I  demand  of  this  lass,  and  that  I  must 
have/' 

Constance  neither  screamed  nor  fainted  as 
the  fellow  brought  his  hot  and  reeking  mouth 
toward  her  own.  Instead,  she  bestowed  upon 
his  face  a  blow  that  staggered  him. 

"'S'death,"  he  cried  in  a  rage,  "now  she  shall 
obey,  or  I'll  - 

"A  truce  to  this  folly,  Jack,"  exclaimed  the 
more  sober  Aylesford;  '  let  the  maid  be,  lest  we 
arouse  the  neighborhood.  Come  on,  I  say." 

"Not  I,"  shouted  the  maddened  officer,  "I'll 
not  be  flouted  by  a  Yankee  jade.  Here's  for 
my  kiss." 

"Not  yet,  sir,  I  think." 

[301 


A  NIGHT  ALARM 

None  of  the  party  had  noticed  the  approach 
of  a  slender,  boyish  man  in  sober  garb.  Had 
Mowatt  seen  him  in  time,  it  may  be  doubted  if 
that  fiery  officer  had  dropped  upon  the  hard  snow 
so  suddenly,  impelled  thereto  oy  a  well-directed 
blow. 

"John  Brandon,  I  thank  you,  sir,"  exclaimed 
old  Romney,  as  he  recognized  his  niece's  cham- 
pion, "and  so  does  Constance.  We're  glad  to 
see  you  again,  eh,  Constance,  my  dear?" 

The  girl  nodded,  and  would  have  spoken  had 
not  Mowatt  just  then  arisen  with  a  fierce  oath 
and,  drawing  his  sword,  made  a  rush  at  Brandon. 
It  would  surely  have  fared  ill  with  the  unarmed 
young  man,  had  not  a  third  officer,  wrapped  in  a 
great-coat,  stepped  up  to  the  group  and  seized  the 
sword-arm  of  the  infuriated  captain,  wrenching 
it  violently,  so  that  his  weapon  fell  to  the  ground. 

"Damme,  sir,"  roared  Mowatt,  "what  the 
devil  d'ye  mean  by  this?  Who  are  you?" 

The  newcomer  lowered  the  high  collar  of  his 
coat,  and  turned  so  that  the  now  feeble  moon- 
light shone  full  upon  his  face.  It  was  a  hand- 
some and  noble  countenance,  but  something 
more  than  its  mere  physical  beauty  struck  the 
two  officers. 

"My  Lord  Percy!"  exclaimed  Aylesford  in 
great  confusion. 

"Percy!"  echoed  Mowatt,  now  thoroughly 
cowed  and  full  of  drunken  apprehension.  '  My 
Lord,  I  — I - 

"Lieutenant  Aylesford,  put  Captain  Mowatt 
under  arrest,"  commanded  the  Earl  sternly. 

[Cl] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Take  him  to  the  main  guard-house  at  once, 
I  will  attend  to  his  case  to-morrow.  And  I  shall 
want  a  word  with  you,  also,  sir." 

Aylesford  bowed  and  led  his  comrade  away. 

"  I  would  I  might  fitly  apologize  for  such  con- 
duct," said  Percy,  turning  to  the  Councillor. 
"  I  can  only  say  that  the  petty  insubordinations 
of  an  inactive  army  are  most  difficult  to  con- 
trol. Nay,  thank  me  not.  What  I  have  done 
was  as  necessary  for  our  well-being  as  for  yours. 
Now  you  must  permit  me  to  escort  you  to  your 
home,  Councillor  Romney,  for  'tis  true,  though 
I  wish  it  were  not,  that  some  of  our  harum- 
scarums  might  find  Mistress  Drake  too  fair  a 
temptation.' 

Constance  thanked  John  Brandon  with  sweet 
gravity,  bade  him  good-night,  and  went  her  way 
under  the  powerful  protection  of  Percy. 

"Ah,  well,"  murmured  the  young  man  as  he 
watched  the  party  out  of  sight,  "there  are  other 
duties  that  I  can  do." 


32] 


CHAPTER  V 
The  Sons  of  Liberty 

THE  garret  of  Tom  Dawes,  the  big  adjutant 
of  the  Boston  regiment,  had  long  been  a 
favorite  meeting-place  of  the  Sons  of  Liberty  and 
their  co-ordinate  branches,  the  various  caucus 
clubs  of  the  town.  Here  had  been  nurtured  the 
spirit  of  freedom,  and  here  had  the  voices  of  the 
patriotic  leaders  rung  with  eloquent  instruction 
and  fiery  appeal.  No  private  nouse  of  all  the 
town  was  so  identified  with  the  cause  of  the 
people. 

To-night  the  garret  was  again  serving  its 
patriotic  purpose.  The  long  room,  from  which 
all  partitions  had  been  removed  years  agone, 
was  blue  with  tobacco  smoke,  and  the  genial 
odor  of  flip  was  in  the  air. 

A  big  table  stretched  down  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  upon  it  pipes,  pouches,  books,  papers, 
maps,  inkhorns,  quills,  bowls,  pitchers,  glasses, 
and  plates  of  biscuits  and  cheese  mingled  with  a 
fine  air  of  comradeship.  The  good  Patriots 
were  not  insensible  of  the  creature  comforts, 
and  many  a  jorum  of  toddy  had  its  share  in  the 
plans  against  the  oppression  of  the  mother 
country. 

The  formalities  of  the  meeting  had  not  yet 

[33] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

begun.  Little  detached  groups  were  talking 
over  the  latest  developments  for  and  against  the 
cause.  The  action  of  the  Grenadiers  in  clearing 
the  streets  before  the  Coffee  House  that  evening, 
as  well  as  the  offensive  toasts,  publicly  an- 
nounced, seemed  the  chief  topics  of  discussion. 

"I  saw  it  all  from  my  shop  window,"  said  a 
grimy-handed  man,  Edes,  the  printer.  "I  de- 
clare t'ye  that  I  feared  another  massacre  like 
that  of  *70." 

"Aye,  neighbor,"  said  a  shrill  little  voice  be- 
longing to  a  queer  little  man  whose  diminutive 
stature  was  accentuated  by  the  loose,  sailor-like 
clothes  he  wore,  "that  was  a  fearful  night." 

'  You  saw  it,  then  ?  "  inquired  a  youthful  mem- 
ber of  the  club,  dressed  almost  like  a  clergyman. 

"Saw  it,  Master  Brandon?  I  should  think 
so,  indeed,  sir.  Why,  I  was  in  it." 

The  young  man's  interest  was  aroused  at  once. 

"May  I  ask  that  you  tell  us  of  it,  Mr.  Hewes," 
he  said,  somewhat  diffidently.  "  I  was  but  a  boy 
at  that  time,  and  would  greatly  like  to  hear  the 
account  of  an  eye-witness." 

Some  of  the  others  having  added  their  request, 
Mr.  George  Robert  Twelves  Hewes  not  un- 
willingly cleared  his  throat  for  the  recital.  Hewes 
was  a  character  in  the  town,  one  of  those  not 
uncommon  men  who  seemed  to  have  no  other 
occupation  but  that  of  patriotism.  He  was  re- 
puted to  be  well  in  the  secrets  of  the  leaders, 
and  it  was  whispered  that  he  could  worm  more 
information  from  the  British  than  any  other 
person  in  Boston.  Without  education,  he  was 

[34] 


THE  SONS  OF  LIBERTY 

intelligent,  and,  while  vastly  inquisitive,  had 
discretion  enough  to  save  him  from  too  obvious 
meddling. 

"Well,  Mr.  Brandon  and  gentlemen,"  he  be- 
gan, "you  all  know  the  results  of  that  bloody 
event,  and  I'll  not  weary  ye  with  any  story  o' 
that  sort.  But  inasmuch  as  a  deal  has  been  al- 
ready spoke  and  writ  about  what  brought  it 
about,  and  none  of  it  accurate,  as  I  believe,  I'll 
tell  ye  just  how  the  trouble  began. 

"First  and  foremost,  the  whole  thing  started 
with  a  dun  from  a  greasy  barber's  boy.' 

"A  barber's  boy?"  exclaimed  John  Brandon, 
and  even  some  of  the  older  men  pricked  up  their 
ears. 

George  Robert  Twelves  Hewes  looked  about 
with  pleasure  at  the  mild  sensation  his  statement 
had  produced. 

"  Nothing  less,  sir,  —  or  greater,  I  may  say. 
You  know  IPiemont,  the  French  barber?  Well, 
at  that  time  he  kept  shop  at  the  head  of  King 
Street  on  the  north  side,  and  there  a  parcel  of 
the  royal  officers  used  to  resort  for  their  head- 
dressing.  One  of  'em  had  been  there  some 
months  to  dress  by  the  quarter,  and  Piemont 
promised  the  bill  to  the  boy  who  attended  him 
if  he  behaved  well.  The  quarter  expired,  but 
the  boy  couldn't  get  his  money,  although  he 
made  many  a  dun  for  it. 

"On  the  evening  of  the  fifth  of  March,  the 
boy  found  his  man  with  a  lot  of  the  other  rake- 
hellies  strutting  before  the  Coffee  House.  He 
raised  such  a  pother  about  his  bill  that  the  bloody- 

[35] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

back  lost  his  temper  and  cuffed  him.  At  that  a 
lot  of  the  citizens  gathered  and  began  to  revile 
the  officers  and  threatened  to  mob  'em.  So  it 
grew  until  at  last  the  troops  fired  on  us  at  the 
Custom  House,  as  ye  all  know." 

'You  saw  Attucks,  then ? "  queried  Brandon. 

"That  I  did.  I  was  beside  trim  until  he  fell. 
The  big  half-breed  had  a  great  cord-wood  stick 
in  his  hands,  and  just  before  the  volley  that  did 
for  him  he  prodded  a  sentry  with  it  and  dared 
him  to  resent  it. 

'You  lobster,'  he  cried,  'I'll  have  one  of  your 
claws.     I  will,  by  God!' 

"  Pretty  soon  the  Grannies  fired,  and  Attucks 
and  the  others  went  down.  The  bullets  whis- 
tled over  my  head,  and  had  I  been  a  taller  man, 
egad,  I'd  not  be  telling  you  this." 

Brandon  followed  the  speaker  with  admiring 
eyes.  He  felt  a  vast  respect  for  a  man  who  had 
been  under  fire  for  what  was  to  him  the  cause  of 
liberty.  Social  and  educational  barriers  van- 
ished before  a  fact  like  that. 

"And  they  say  you  were  at  the  Tea  Party, 
Mr.  Hewes,"  he  ventured  again. 

"No  one  should  know  who  was  of  that  party, 
schoolmaster,"  the  little  man  replied,  "out  I 
may  say  - 

Whatever  of  interest  that  had  been  forthcom- 
ing was  interrupted  by  a  long  single  knock  at 
the  great  door,  followed  by  three  or  four  taps  in 
peculiar  rotation.  A  man  stepped  through  the 
naif-gloom  to  the  entrance  and  a  short  dialogue 
in  strange  language  was  exchanged.  Then  the 

[36] 


THE  SONS  OF  LIBERTY 

door  opened  and  a  graceful  figure  entered  and 
approached  the  long  table. 

"Tis  Dr.  Warren,  of  the  Committee  of 
Safety,"  whispered  Crafts,  the  painter,  to  Bran- 
don. 

The  young  man  rejoiced  that  at  last  he  was  to 
meet  the  already  famous  physician  and  Patriot 
in  the  close  communion  of  the  club.  He  had 
known  him  as  a  chivalrous  soul  whom  his  friends 
adored  for  his  fascinating  manners,  and  whom 
his  enemies  feared  for  his  eloquence  and  a  sound 
judgment  beyond  his  years.  But  now  was  to 
come  comradeship. 

"Now  business  will  begin,"  remarked  the  im- 
patient Edes. 

Warren  greeted  his  friends  with  his  usual 
charming  courtesy,  and  sat  down  at  the  head  of 
the  long  table.  As  was  the  custom  at  the  open- 
ing of  all  their  meetings,  a  great  Bible  was  un- 
covered and  all  filed  past,  each,  with  his  hand 
on  the  book,  taking  the  solemn  vow  of  allegiance 
to  the  cause.  Brandon  was  the  last  to  pass. 

"Ah,  a  new  face,"  said  Warren  pleasantly. 

'  'Tis  John  Brandon,"  replied  his  next  neigh- 
bor, "but  lately  come  from  the  University  at 
Cambridge  to  be  usher  at  the  Latin  School." 

Warren  looked  approvingly  at  the  young  re- 
cruit. Spite  of  his  youth  there  was  that  in  his 
face  that  spoke  of  calm  courage  and  a  deter- 
mination that  would  carry  him  through  any  duty 
he  might  undertake. 

"I  welcome  you,  sir,  to  our  band,"  said  the 

[37] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

doctor,  grasping  Brandon's  hand  cordially.  "  We 
have  need  of  such  men  as  you." 

As  the  schoolmaster  reached  his  retired  seat, 
filled  with  delight,  he  found  that  Warren  had 
arisen  to  address  the  meeting.  With  eager  eyes 
and  beating  heart  he  followed  the  calm,  mag- 
netic voice  of  the  leader. 

"I  counsel  moderation,  friends,"  began  the 
speaker.  "America  must  and  will  be  free,  but 
when  the  time  comes  to  fight  it  must  be  as  sol- 
diers and  men,  not  as  a  mob  and  brutes.  Eng- 
lish tyranny  may  riot  be  the  fault  of  royalty  dis- 
credited by  its  ministers,  but  it  is  none  the  less 
tyranny.  I  regret  the  indignities  shown  hitherto 
respected  citizens  because  they  do  not  think  as 
we  do.  The  liberty  for  which  we  are  ready  to 
lay  down  our  lives  demands  liberty  for  all  to  do 
as  their  conscience  dictates.  We  must  be  pa- 
tient with  the  councillors  who  have  not  resigned. 
The  attack  upon  Councillor  Mildmay  will  not 
win  the  doubting  to  our  cause." 

"But  he  said  Boston  should  be  laid  in  ashes," 
growled  printer  Edes,  a  man  of  extreme  con- 
victions, who  believed  that  Warren,  with  all  his 
virtues,  was  over  pacific. 

"And  called  the  General  Court  fools,"  cried 
Joseph  Field,  a  ship-master  whose  occupation 
was  now  gone  and  who  bitterly  resented  being 
"cooped  up  on  land,"  as  he  called  it. 

'  Those  are  but  the  thoughtless  boasts  of  pas- 
sion," returned  Warren  calmly.  "Let  us  set 
them  an  example  of  moderation." 

John  Brandon  found  himself  at  once  on  the 

[38] 


THE  SONS  OF  LIBERTY 

side  of  the  speaker,  whose  ardent  patriotism, 
tempered  with  clear  judgment,  appealed  to  him 
strongly.  And  yet  as  he  listened  he  could  not 
help  feeling  a  great  desire  to  act,  to  do  something 
at  once  that  should  attest  his  zeal.  Yet  how 
could  he,  a  mere  teacher  of  boys,  prove  his  met- 
tle in  the  great  struggle  ?  His  hands  gripped  one 
another  in  a  strong,  nervous  clasp. 

"Our  greatest  hope,"  continued  Warren, 
"lies  in  me  growth  of  the  organization  of  the 
people  in  the  country.  You  may  not  all  know 
that  early  last  fall  ten  thousand  men  were  in 
arms  between  here  and  Sudbury,  and  that  there 
was  a  plan  at  that  time  to  muster  forty  or  fifty 
thousand  to  march  into  Boston  and  rid  it  of  the 
soldiers." 

"Ah,"  cried  Edes,  "that  was  something  like 
action.  It  irks  me  that  it  was  not  carried  into 
effect." 

"The  time  was  not  ripe,"  returned  Warren, 
with  a  smile.  "We  must  not  strike  the  first 
blow.  When  it  comes  it  must  be  dealt  by  the 
British  aggressors.  God  and  the  right  must 
fight  on  our  side.  The  contest  may  be  severe  — 
the  end  will  be  glorious.  We  should  not  boast, 
but  united  and  prepared  as  we  are  we  have  no 
reason  to  doubt  of  success,  if  we  should  be  com- 
pelled to  make  the  last  appeal;  but  we  mean  not 
to  make  that  appeal  until  justified  in  the  sight 
of  God  and  man." 

A  profound  stillness  followed  the  eloquent 
close  of  Warren's  little  address.  Even  the  most 
rabid  of  the  Patriots  was  for  the  time  being 

[39] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

thrilled  into  agreement  with  the  policy  of  the 
wise  leader.  No  one  else  cared  to  speak  for  a 
time,  and  when,  after  a  round  of  Dawes'  excellent 
flip,  a  song  was  proposed,  and  sung  softly,  these 
strains  sunk  deep  into  young  Brandon's  soul: 

"  Come,  join  hand  in  hand,  brave  Americans  all, 
And  rouse  your  bold  hearts  at  fair  Liberty's  call; 
No  tyrannous  acts  shall  suppress  your  just  claim, 
Or  stain  with  dishonor  America's  name. 
In  freedom  we're  born  and  in  freedom  we'll  live. 
Our  purses  are  ready: 
Steady,  friends,  steady, — 
Not  as  slaves,  but  as  freemen,  our  money  we'll  give." 

Scarcely  had  the  last  notes  of  the  ditty  died 
away  when  another  knock,  bolder  than  Warren's 
had  been,  was  tattooed  against  the  door.  Again 
the  mystic  conversation,  and  then  there  came 
into  view  a  short,  chubty  man  of  middle  age, 
with  a  rubicund,  genial  face,  whose  rather  bul- 
bous nose  seemed  its  most  salient  characteristic. 
A  large  cape-coat  covered  his  figure  down  to  the 
neat  riding  boots  he  wore,  and  his  cocked  hat 
was  pulled  well  over  his  rather  curly  hair.  To  a 
man  the  company  rose,  and  greeted  him  warmly, 
which  spoke  of  the  popularity  of  Master  Paul 
Revere,  the  clever  goldsmith  and  engraver,  the 
sworn  idol  of  the  mechanics  and  artisans  of  Bos- 
ton, and  the  confidential  messenger  of  the  pa- 
triotic leaders. 

"Welcome,  Master  Revere,"  cried  half  a 
dozen  voices  at  once,  and  more  hands  than  that 
reached  out  to  grasp  his.  He  tossed  his  hat  care- 
lessly on  the  table,  unbuttoned  his  coat  with 

Uoi 


THE  SONS  OF  LIBERTY 

great  deliberation,  then  lifted  a  mug  of  flip  to  his 
lips  and  drank  it  off  with  gusto. 

"  Right  glad  am  I  to  be  with  you  again,  friends, 
he  saia  heartily.  "  It's  a  long  way  I  have  trav- 
eled since  last  you  saw  me  at  a  meeting.  I  trust 
I  have  been  of  service  in  the  saddle.  I  have  a 
Patriot  horse,  if  ever  there  was  one." 

"What  of  Portsmouth,"  cried  Edes,  "and 
the  bold  deed  of  our  neighbors  in  that  Tory 
stronghold  ?  Tell  us  of  that." 

Revere  seemed  surprised.  'You  surely  must 
have  heard  ere  now,  and  during  my  later  ab- 
sence," he  said. 

"Of  the  general  events,  yes,"  interposed  War- 
ren, "  and  yet  I  think  your  personal  observation 
of  the  matter  would  be  worth  the  hearing." 

"As  to  that,  I  cannot  say  much,"  rejoined 
Revere.  '  You  know  that  a  month  ago  my  poor 
services  were  required  to  inform  the  Committee 
of  Safety  at  Portsmouth  that  the  government  in 
England  had  prohibited  the  further  importation 
of  gunpowder  and  military  stores  by  tnese  col- 
onies, and  that  a  large  garrison  was  to  be  sent  at 
once  to  occupy  Fort  William  and  Mary  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Piscataqua. 

"  Urgent  haste  was  necessary,  and  I  rode  hard, 
reaching  Portsmouth  within  the  day.  I  lodged 
at  the  house  of  friend  Langdon,  a  large  and 
beautiful  mansion  that  would  scarce  suffer  in 
comparison  with  that  of  Mr.  Hancock.  That 
evening  there  was  a  meeting  of  the  Sons  of  Lib- 
erty, and  I  told  them  of  all  that  was  afoot. 

"Egad,  gentlemen,  they  are  a  lively  lot,  those 

[41] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Portsmouth  folk.  Next  morning  a  couple  of 
hundred  of  them,  led  by  Langdon,  Pickering, 
and  a  wild  Irishman  named  Sullivan,  marched 
down  to  the  fort  and  demanded  the  surrender  of 
the  place. 

'  In  whose  name,  sir  ? '  asked  the  commander 
very  civilly,  as  well  he  might  when  he  saw  the 
number  of  men  against  his  paltry  garrison. 

"In  the  name  of  the  people  of  New  Hamp- 
shire ! '  roared  Sullivan,  and  that  did  for  it.  The 
commander  and  garrison  gave  themselves  up  as 
prisoners,  while  the  citizens  stripped  the  fort. 
They  took  a  hundred  barrels  of  powder,  some 
fifteen  hundred  stand  of  small  arms,  and  a  few 
pieces  of  light  cannon,  and  hauled  them  off  into 
the  country  under  the  very  nose  of  Governor 
Wentworth  himself,  who,  they  say,  nearly  burst 
a  blood-vessel  with  rage.  The  booty  is  now 
safely  hidden"  -here  he  lowered  his  voice  in- 
voluntarily -  "at  Durham,  where  lives  Sullivan. 
Remember  that,  Warren ;  some  day,  mayhap,  we 
shall  need  the  stuff." 

For  a  moment  Warren  and  Revere  held  a 
whispered  conversation  apart  from  the  rest. 
Then  the  doctor  made  an  announcement. 
"Friends,"  said  he,  "there  is  need  of  a  volun- 
teer to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  proceed 
within  three  days  at  the  order  of  the  Committee 
of  Safety  with  important  documents  to  be  de- 
livered to  designated  persons  in  various  towns. 
It  will  be  a  delicate  mission  and,  perhaps,  dan- 
gerous. Let  him  who  will  undertake  the  duty 
arise." 


THE  SONS  OF  LIBERTY 

Every  man  in  the  room  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Where  all  are  patriots  'tis  difficult  to  choose," 
observed  Warren  with  a  smile.  "Therefore  let 
lots  be  drawn." 

"Are  all  here  safe  men?"  asked  Revere,  as 
the  slips  of  paper  were  being  prepared,  his 
shrewd  blue  eyes  scanning  the  laces  before  him 
with  keen  scrutiny. 

"Yes,"  replied  Warren,  with  simple  convic- 
tion. The  goldsmith  was  satisfied,  although 
he  had  been  perforce  trained  to  suspicion,  and 
had  also  noted  one  or  two  men  previously  un- 
known to  him  as  active  Patriots. 

The  passing  of  ballots  in  a  black  wooden  box 
was  a  time  or  highly  nervous  suspense  to  John 
Brandon.  He  took  his  bit  of  paper  with  feverish 
haste  from  its  receptacle,  and  held  it  clenched 
in  his  hand. 

All  around  him  members  were  unfolding  their 
slips,  and  still  no  man  spoke.  Brandon  waited 
and  waited,  yet  there  came  no  exulting  cry,  "I 
am  the  man!"  A  great  joy  began  to  thrill  his 
heart  as  he  realized  what  that  silence  might 
mean.  Slowly  he  unfolded  his  ballot,  and  then 
he  knew. 

"Thou  art  chosen,"  were  the  words  he  read. 

He  arose  modestly  in  his  place,  but  no  words 
were  necessary.  All  knew  that  the  youngest 
and  newest  member  of  the  club  had  won  the 
prize.  And  through  the  handclasps  of  Warren 
and  Revere,  John  Brandon  received  his  new 
birthright  of  endeavor. 

As  he  walked  toward  his  home  after  the  meet- 

(431 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

ing,  he  found  soberness  mingled  with  his  exul- 
tation. A  new  element  entered  into  his  thoughts 
—  Constance.  She  was  a  Tory  born  and  bred, 
he  mused.  What  would  she  say  if  she  knew  of 
this  uight's  work  ? 


CHAPTER  VI 
Teacher  and  School  Boy 

JOHN  BRANDON  slept  late  next  morning. 
His  dreams  had  been  troubled  with  burdens 
of  impossible  tasks  to  be  performed  for  the  Com- 
mittee of  Safety,  and  pictures  of  a  fair  maid  in 
distresses  from  which  he  could  not  rescue  her. 
He  was  glad,  then,  to  awake  to  the  consciousness 
of  a  gentle  tapping  at  his  door,  and  to  hear  his 
sister  Barbara's  soft  voice  calling  to  him. 

"  Whatever  ails  thee,  John  ?  "  it  said.  "  Break- 
fast waits,  and  there'll  be  little  time  for  you  to 
get  to  school." 

He  jumped  from  his  bed  and  threw  back  the 
heavy  shutters  at  the  windows.  Then  his  mood 
leaped  to  meet  that  of  the  glorious  winter  sun 
that  seemed  to  transform  the  white  town  into  a 
city  of  gold.  He  sang  snatches  of  patriotic 
verses  as  he  dressed,  and  afterward  swung  into 
the  great  kitchen,  where  the  table  was  spread, 
with  an  almost  martial  air  that  much  puzzled 
pretty,  prim  Barbara. 

Brandon's  newly  found  nature,  though  sudden 
in  its  manifestation,  had  been  of  slower  growth. 
For  years  he  had  been  a  serious,  studious  youth, 
planning  all  things  for  the  scholastic  life.  His 
father,  Jedediah  Brandon,  had  gratified  his  every 

[45] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

wish  along  those  lines,  for  he  had  both  the  means 
and  the  desire  to  give  his  son  the  education  which 
he  himself  could  not  have.  The  old  man  was 
many  things  in  the  domestic  economy  of  Boston, 
—  tallow-chandler,  glue-maker,  soap-boiler,  and 
tinker,  —  and  all  of  them  well.  At  the  sign  of 
the  Bull's  Head  and  Horns  in  his  quaint,  gam- 
brel-roofed,  diamond-paned  house  in  Quaker 
Lane,  he  might  be  found  any  day  busy  with  at 
least  one  of  his  several  trades. 

The  son,  having  finished  his  college  course 
creditably,  became  absorbed  in  his  new  duties 
at  the  Latin  School,  yet  not  so  completely  that 
the  spirit  of  the  new  goddess  —  Liberty  —  did 
not  steal  into  his  heart  and,  by  firing  that,  warm 
also  his  brain.  Many  physical  facts,  too,  roused 
his  young  indignation:  government  by  force  as 
embodiea  in  Gage,  who  nad  arrived  the  preced- 
ing spring;  the  blockade  of  the  harbor;  the  al- 
most incredible  arrogance  of  the  soldiers;  the 
robbery  of  the  charter  by  the  Regulations  Act, 
and,  perhaps  most  potently  exasperating  of  all, 
the  erection  of  fortifications  at  either  end  of  the 
town.  The  poverty  of  many  of  the  people,  new 
and  strange  for  Boston,  was  a  powerful  appeal, 
and  to  cap  all  came  the  speeches  of  Sam  Adams, 
Warren,  and  the  others  whom  he  had  often 
heard.  Now  he  was  chosen  for  active  service; 
he  was  to  do,  as  well  as  talk  and  read;  the  world 
was  brighter  than  it  had  ever  been.  Not  even 
the  face  of  Constance  Drake,  now  and  then  aris- 
ing from  the  shadows  of  the  night  before,  could 

[46] 


TEACHER  AND  SCHOOL  BOY 

darken  his  mood.  Fate  would  be,  must  be,  kind 
in  some  mysterious  way  as  yet  undreamed. 

"  Prithee,  John,  what  has  befallen  your  appe- 
tite?" asked  Barbara.  "One  would  think  you 
in  love,  but  that  how  could  love  come  to  scholar 
Brandon?" 

"Aye,  but  I  am  in  love,  Bab,"  cried  her 
brother. 

"In  love?     Why—" 

"  Of  a  truth  —  in  love  with  the  fairest  goddess 
in  the  world." 

"John,  it  cannot  be  — " 

"Nay,  nay,  sister  mine,"  he  cried  gaily,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet  and  clasping  the  girl  in  his  arms, 
"the  goddess  I  love  is  Liberty." 

"On,  fie!"  replied  the  disappointed  Barbara, 
"  I  had  hoped - 

"And  so  had  I,  but  this  betters  hope.  Now 
to  break  the  news  of  my  betrothal  to  my  father." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him  Barbara  drew 
up  gently  from  its  warm  nest  in  her  bosom  a 
miniature,  which  she  looked  upon  for  a  moment, 
then  kissed  tenderly.  A  sound  outside,  and  it 
was  quickly  down  below  the  folds  of  her  white 
neckerchief  again. 

John  found  his  father  in  the  little  room  where 
he  took  orders  and  transacted  the  financial  side 
of  his  trades.  The  elder  Brandon  was  a  hook- 
nosed, thin-faced  man  of  no  great  fluency  of 
speech,  but  an  oft-expressed  theory  that  if  every 
man  followed  the  dictates  of  his  own  conscience 
the  general  result  would  do  the  world  good. 
What  passed  between  father  and  son  was  never 

[47] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

recorded,  nor  was  there  any  curiosity  over  the 
matter  save  on  the  part  of  Barbara,  who  hov- 
ered about  hoping  to  catch  some  fragment  of 
the  dialogue,  yet  too  honorable  to  permit  herself 
any  eavesdropping. 

At  last,  when  she  had  seen  her  brother  leave 
the  house  and  start  briskly  up  the  lane,  she  ven- 
tured to  invade  old  Jedediah  s  sanctum. 

"John  will  be  late  to  the  school,  father,"  she 
said,  looking  up  at  the  great  gold-rimmed  clock 
fastened  over  me  desk. 

"'Twill  not  matter  much,  I  fancy,"  returned 
the  old  man  shortly.  "  'Tis  his  last  day." 

"His  last  day  ?'' 

"Aye.  I  couldn't  oppose  him.  Every  man, 
young  or  old,  for  his  own  conscience,  say  I." 

"What  will  he  do?" 

"His  duty,  I  warrant.  But  there,  there,  Bar- 
bara, be  about  your  housewifery." 

"But  father,  I  - 

"You'll  know  it  all  in  good  time,  my  girl, — 
soon  enough,  I'll  warrant,"  he  muttered  under 
his  breath.  Then  his  daughter  was  vastly  sur- 
prised to  hear  him  sigh,  for  never  before  had  she 
round  him  guilty  of  that  weakness.  And,  won- 
der of  wonders,  in  half  an  hour  he  locked  the 
door  of  his  little  office,  plunged  into  his  great- 
coat and  left  the  house  "for  a  breath  of  fresh 
air,"  he  said,  although,  in  Barbara's  recollec- 
tion, he  had  never  felt  in  need  of  that  stimulant 
of  Dame  Nature  before  the  hour  for  dinner.  It 
was  surely  a  morning  of  surprises. 

Meanwhile,  young  Brandon  had  gone  to  the 

[48] 


TEACHER  AND  SCHOOL  BOY 

Latin  School,  and  in  a  straightforward  way 
told  the  master  that,  with  official  consent,  his 
duties  as  usher  were  at  an  end.  With  kindly 
regret  he  was  honorably  dismissed  at  once;  the 
grave  teacher  was  a  stanch  Patriot,  and  felt 
somehow  that  the  hour  had  struck  for  his  youth- 
ful assistant. 

Not  far  from  the  school  Brandon  met  a  rather 
oddly  assorted  pair.  One  was  a  negro  of  mid- 
dle age  quite  gaudily  dressed,  and  with  his  wool 
carefully  powdered ;  the  other  a  small  boy  whose 
coat-collar,  grasped  firmly  by  the  darky,  nearly 
hid  his  red  and  defiant  face.  It  was  Pompey, 
the  school  truant-seeker,  haling  one  of  his  vic- 
tims back  to  justice.  For  years  Pompey  had 
waxed  fat  and  arrogant  in  his  profession;  what 
wonder  when  he  looked  about  him  and  saw 
among  the  great  men  of  the  day  many  of  those 
he  had  once  seized  as  prisoners. 

"Ah,  Pompey,"  said  Brandon,  in  response  to 
the  elaborate  hat-flourish  of  the  dark  messenger, 
"what's  amiss  to-day  with  our  young  friend 
Thomas  Dexter?" 

The  boy  tried  to  speak  for  himself,  but  Pom- 
pey cut  him  short  with  his  big  voice. 

"Well,  sah,  Mr.  Brandon,  sah,"  said  he,  "I 
was  gib  de  orders  fer  to  go  fotch  Thomas  to 
school  when  he  don't  'pear  dar.  So  I  goes  down 
by  Province  House,  sah,  where  I  hears  a  tu- 
mult, an*  dar  I  sees  dis  yer  boy  runnin'  away 
from  a  sojer  like  Phoebus  afore  de  mornin*  sun. 
But  I  chases  him  de  way  old  ^Eneas  chased  de 

[49] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

wooden  horse,  and  cotched  him  wid  red  hands. 
An'  heah  he  is,  sah,  fo'  yo'  punishment." 

Smiling  in  spite  of  himself  at  Pompey's  per- 
versions of  the  smattering  of  classical  and  mytho- 
logical lore  he  had  picked  up  about  the  school, 
and  which  he  was  passionately  fond  of  airing, 
Brandon  asked  the  boy  for  his  version  of  the 
affair. 

"You  see,  sir,"  replied  the  boy,  his  wish  to 
justify  himself  overcoming  his  customary  rever- 
ence for  constituted  authority,  "some  of  the 
*  Grannies'  have  been  hectoring  us  boys  and 
spoiling  our  slides  on  the  Common,  as  well  as 
tripping  us  up.  We  couldn't  stand  it  any 
longer,  sir,  and  made  up  our  minds  to  get  even.  ' 

'PAnddidyou?" 

"We -ell,  yes,  sir,  I  think  we  did.  This  morn- 
ing we  saw  one  of  the  *  Grannies'  who'd  been 
mean  to  us,  at  his  post  in  front  of  Province 
House.  When  his  back  was  turned,  we  tied  a 
bit  of  strong  cord  across  from  a  fence  to  a  tree  — 
perhaps  you  know  the  way,  sir  —  and  then  we 
snowballed  him.  When  he  chased  us  he  fell 
over  the  string,  flat,  and  his  musket  went  off, 
and  —  and  they  called  out  the  guard.  Then 
Pompey  caught  me." 

Brandon  felt  his  heart  glow  at  the  lad's  recital. 
He  would  have  patted  him  on  the  head  had  not 
the  old  scholasticism  been  still  strong.  As  it 
was,  he  rescued  him  from  Pompey,  and  ordered 
him  to  school  with  a  word  to  the  master. 

'The    next   time    you  want   to    'get   even/ 

[60] 


TEACHER  AND  SCHOOL  BOY 

Thomas,"  he  said,  "take  your  chance  when 
school  isn't  in  session." 

Pompey  went  away  grumbling.  He  hated  to 
be  deprived  of  the  sweet  delignt  of  making  a 
spectacular  entrance  at  the  schoolroom  with  one 
of  his  quarries. 

"  Hun,  Marse  Brandon'll  spile  all  de  boys,  fo' 
suah,"  he  muttered;  "dey'se  wuss'n  Scylla  'n' 
ChYbdys  already.  Gorry  mighty  only  knows 
what'll  happen  ef  dese  yer  sojers  stay  much 
longer." 


A 


CHAPTER  VII 
At  Dan  Mac Alpine' s 

T  the  head  of  Quaker  Lane,  in  the  upper 
story  of  a  deserted  warehouse,  was  the 
armory  of  Corporal  Dan  MacAlpine,  master 
of  the  gentlemanly  art  of  sword-defense  and 
rapier-play,  and  a  veteran  of  the  French  and 
Indian  wars.  Since  the  occupation  of  Boston 
by  the  King's  troops,  the  place  had  taken  on  a 
great  air  of  prosperity,  and  many  an  honest 
pound  had  Corporal  Dan  stored  away  by  fresh- 
ening up  the  skill  of  the  officers  and  teaching 
the  rudiments  of  the  use  of  swords  to  sundry 
young  Bostonians.  The  elegant  John  Hancock 
nad  often  crossed  foils  with  the  master  of  the 
place,  and  Warren  and  Revere  had  essayed  to 
become  adepts,  though  with  indifferent  success. 
Naturally,  it  was  desirable  that  the  two  great 
elements  in  the  town  should  not  meet  here,  so 
MacAlpine  had  established  the  custom  of  Tory 
mornings  and  Whig  afternoons. 

This  morning  the  passer-by  might  have  real- 
ized from  the  clashing  of  steel  that  a  spirited 
bout  was  going  on  in  the  loft.  Had  he  entered 
and  climbed  the  heavy  oaken  stairs  he  would 
have  seen  two  men  hard  at  it  with  foils,  each 
moving  hither  and  yon  with  easy  grace  and  the 

[52] 


AT  DAN  MACALPINE'S 

rapidity  of  trained  muscles.  One  was  a  thick- 
set individual  of  medium  height,  with  a  round, 
good-natured  face,  a  snub-nose  and  thick,  curly, 
grizzled  hair.  His  antagonist  was  taller  and 
slenderer,  his  grace  of  body  well  displayed  by 
his  laced  shirt  and  military  nether  garments. 

The  younger  man  was  the  more  aggressive 
fighter.  His  sword-play  was  rapid  and  almost 
excitable,  while  the  other  seemed  almost  im- 
movable save  for  the  slight  twists  of  his  right 
arm  as  he  skilfully  parried  every  thrust  made 
by  the  officer.  At  last,  with  a  smile  on  his  broad 
face,  he  gave  a  sudden  upward  turn  to  his  wrist, 
and  in  an  instant  the  sword  of  the  Englishman 
flew  upward  toward  the  rafters,  then  fell  with  a 
clatter  on  the  floor. 

"Egad,"  exclaimed  the  disarmed  fencer,  his 
face  full  of  puzzled  chagrin,  '"my  wits  must  have 
been  wool-gathering,  Corporal." 

"Niver  moind,  Liftinant  Charlton,"  replied 
MacAlpine,  soothingly,  "  ye've  a  f oine  wrist  and 
a  pretty  knack  at  play.  But  that  thwist  has  been 
too  much  for  the  bist  of  'ein.  Oi  raymimber, 
now,  in  Braddock's  campaign  - 

"  Come,  MacAlpine,  you  should  at  least  spare 
the  conquered,"  returned  Charlton,  stooping 
for  his  sword.  "But  why,  in  all  our  bouts  this 
winter,  have  you  never  tried  that  —  that  'thwist' 
before?" 

"Because,  sorr,"  —  and  the  twinkle  in  the 
Irishman's  soft  blue  eyes  grew  less  merry,  — 
"because  Oi  niver  tache  that  to  any  man  Oi  have 

[58] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

not  larned  to  honor,  and  —  Oi  axes  yer  pardon, 
Liftinant  —  to  admire  as  a  frind." 

Charlton  regarded  him  curiously  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  stepped  forward  and  extended  his 
hand. 

"I  thank  you,  MacAlpine,"  he  said  gravely. 
Then  with  his  usual  bonhomie:  "But  damme, 
man,  I  know  no  more  of  it  now  than  I  did. 
What  is  the  trick,  pray?" 

"Yes,  sorr,  it  is  a  thrick,  daypindin'  on  eye  and 
judgmint.  Oi'll  soon  tache  it  ye.  An  Oitalian 
master-at-arms,  the  great  Allegretti  ye've  doubt- 
less heard  of  — ' 

*  Taught  it  to  you?" 

"No;  to  me  ould  captain  in  the  dhragoons, 
God  rist  his  sowl." 

"Killed  in  action?" 

"  No,  worrse  luck.  He  died  in  bed  like  a  man 
of  pace  —  which  he  wasn't  —  did  Captain  Terry 
—  Terence  Drake,  sorr.  Perhaps  you've  heard 
of  him." 

Charlton  shook  his  head  slowly  in  a  sort  of 
indecision.  "No,  I  think  not,  though  in  truth 
the  name  sounds  familiar.  Tell  me  of  him." 

"Ah,"  said  the  corporal,  "there  was  an  orfficer 
for  ye !  All  shparkle  and  dash  and  fire,  but  sym- 
pathitic  as  an  angel,  sorr.  Oirish  to  the  back- 
bone, a  soldier  ivery  inch.  Poor  Captain  Terry! 
Maybe  ye've  met  his  daughter,  sorr?" 

The  officer  started  as  if  from  a  reverie.  In 
truth  he  had  heard  little  of  MacAlpine's  eulogy. 
Something  like  a  half-remembered  strain  of 

[54] 


AT  DAN  MACALPINE'S 

music  had  been  floating  through  his  mind.     But 
now  — 

"Why  —  why,  not  Lady  —  I  mean  Mistress 
Constance  Drake?" 

"  The  idintical  same,  Liftinant.  Captain  Terry 
quarthered  in  this  town  afther  the  defate  of 
braddock,  and  took  Giles  Romney's  young  sister 
Cicely  home  to  England  as  a  briae." 

"And  the  mother  —  is  she  living?"  asked 
Charlton  gently. 

"No,  sorr.  The  same  fever  took  'em  both 
to  hivin  togither.  They  were  niver  mint  to  be 
parthed  at  all.  .  .  .  Confound  the  dust  in  me  eye! 
Oi  was  his  orderly  and  know  whereof  Oi  spake." 

"The  daughter,"  said  Charlton  eagerly,  "she 
was  reared  by  her  uncle,  I  take  it." 

"As  the  apple  of  his  eye.  He's  proud  and  — 
and  rough,  perhaps,  sorr,  but  he  loves  her  and — " 

"Egad,  Corporal,"  cried  the  lieutenant,  "I 
believe  I  know  why  you  left  the  army.  It  was 
to  be  near  her." 

The  fencing-master  looked  straight  at  his 
pupil.  "She  might  need  me  if  anything  hap- 
pened," he  replied  simply. 

Again  did  the  handsome  Englishman  grasp 
the  old  soldier's  hand.  Then  he  laughed  gaily. 
"Heigho,  sentiment's  not  all  with  the  writers  of 
verses,  MacAlpine,"  he  cried —  "But  what  the 
deuce  is  that?" 

The  sound  that  had  cut  short  the  gallant 
lieutenant's  moralizing  was  the  jangling  of  a 
chorus  of  small  bells  oi  all  tones  and  conditions, 
from  the  raucous  clangor  of  the  guardian  of  wan- 

[55] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

dering  cows  to  the  sweet  song  of  a  rope  of  sleigh- 
bells.  It  died  away  for  a  moment,  then  broke 
out  by  degrees  and  additions  until  it  seemed  as  if 
the  whole  lower  portion  of  Quaker  Lane  were 
trying  to  exorcise  evil  spirits. 

MacAlpine  grinned  delightedly. 

"It's  a  councillor,  Oi'm  thinkin',  Liftinant." 

"A  councillor?  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me 
they're  wearing  bells." 

*  Oh,  no,  sorr,  though  they  moight  as  well  whin 
they  go  this  way.  Ye  see,  sorr,  at  the  foot  o'  the 
lane  there's  a  good  bit  o'  Whig  shop-keepers  of 
wan  sort  an'  anither.  Naturally  they're  down 
on  the  councillors,  so  whin  wan  starts  to  walk 
through,  somebody  begins  the  tocsin  and  be  the 
toime  he  gets  in  the  middle,  the  whole  lot  are 
ringin'  like  the  divil.  It  don't  plase  the  Tories 
much,  ye  can  belave." 

"I  snould  think  not,  indeed,"  said  Charlton, 
loyally  trying  to  be  indignant,  though  perilously 
near  to  laughter.  "A  rather  miserable  life  these 
councillors  have,  I  swear." 

He  stepped  to  a  window  to  see,  idly  wondering 
who  had  caused  the  outburst.  "Egad,  'tis  ola 
Romney!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Romney?"  echoed  the  corporal,  running  to 
the  window.  '  'Pon  me  sowl,  it  is  himsilf,  and 
Misthress  Constance,  too.  There  must  be  some 
mistake;  they'd  niver  give  her  such  a  sirinade. 
There,  the  bells  have  shtopped.  But  where  are 
yegoin',  sorr?" 

Charlton  had  beaten  a  hasty  retreat  to  put  on 
his  coat  and  had  taken  up  his  cape  and  hat. 

[56] 


AT  DAN  MACALPINE'S 

"Ye'll  not  try  the  thwist  to-day?" 

"  No,  I  —  I  must  be  away.  I've  an  engage- 
ment— with  Lord  Percy." 

"  Won't  it  kape  ?  "  This  with  a  true  Milesian 
twinkle  in  the  blue  eyes. 

"  Keep  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Only  that  Misthress  Constance  is  coming 
up,  sorr,  an'  I  thought  — " 

"What  right  had  you  to  think?  .  .  .  But— 
what  time  is  it?" 

"  Only  half  after  elivin,  sorr,"  said  MacAlpine, 
consulting  an  enormous,  spherical-faced  silver 
watch,  next  to  his  favorite  rapier  the  pride  of 
his  life. 

"Ah,  then,  I  believe  I  have  half  an  hour  to 
spare." 

"Oi  thought  ye  had,  sorr."  This  with  a  fine 
air  of  conviction  that  the  fencing-master  well 
knew  how  to  adopt  on  occasion. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
A  Story  and  a  Sword 

BY  this  time  Councillor  Romney  was  stamp- 
^^^  ing  into  the  long  apartment,  red-faced,  with 
a  temper  keener  than  any  of  MacAlpine's  swords. 
Constance  followed,  stepping  daintily  over  the 
threshold  and  holding  up  her  skirts  with  the 
most  tantalizing  incompleteness,  so  Charlton 
thought  in  his  semi-retirement. 

"  Did  ever  anybody  hear  of  such  damned  im- 
pertinence, sir?"  stormed  the  Councillor.  "To 
bell  me  as  if  I  were  a  sheep!  'Tis  infamous, 
Connie,  I  tell  ye,  infamous!" 

:<Yes,  I  know,  uncle,"  the  girl  returned  with 
a  naughty  assumption  of  sympathy,  "'tis  very 
wrong  in  them.  But  who  s  to  tell  them  that 
you're  only  a  lamb  in  councillor's  clothing  ?  — 
Oh,  I  did  not  know  — " 

Mistress  Drake  stopped  very  suddenly  as  she 
caught  sight  of  Lieutenant  Charlton,  who 
stepped  forward  as  if  to  come  to  closer  quarters. 
But  she  merely  courtesied  and  turned  to  exam- 
ine some  old  prints  hanging  on  the  walls.  Charl- 
ton flushed,  but  gave  no  other  sign  of  his  vexa- 
tion. 

Old  Romney  was  still  sputtering  out  his  wrath 
and  injured  pride  to  Mac  Alpine. 

[58] 


A  STORY  AND  A  SWORD 

"Rights  of  the  people!"  he  roared,  "damme, 
sir,  are  the  rights  of  the  King  to  have  no  place  ?" 

"Oi  take  no  sides,  sorr,"  replied  the  corporal. 
"Oi'll  tache  both  parties  what  Oi  can  of  me 
thrade.  Oi  only  raypated  what  they  say." 

"Someone  must  make  the  laws  and  enforce 
them.  If  these  Whigs  had  their  way,  there'd 
be  no  judges  nor  sheriffs." 

"  Nor  army,  either,  egad,"  broke  in  Charlton. 

Romney  looked  at  the  speaker,  then  at  Mac- 
Alpine  inquiringly.  The  latter  introduced  the 
pair. 

"  Glad  to  know  you,  sir,"  exclaimed  old  Rom- 
ney cordially.  "And  you're  right  about  the 
soldiers,  at  least  those  in  red  coats.  Of  those 
in  blue  these  hot-heads  are  vain  enough." 

"Soldiers?     You  honor  them  too  much,  sir." 

"No,  Lieutenant  Charlton,  they  are  soldiers. 
The  country  round  about  swarms  with  them  — 
well-dressed  and  equipped,  and  their  officers 
veterans  of  the  French  and  Indian  wars." 

"That's  it  — bush  fighters.  They'd  never 
dare  a  stand-up  battle  —  if  they  dare  fight  at 
all." 

"Please  God  it  may  not  come  to  that,  sir," 
said  the  old  man  earnestly.  "I  —  well,  well, 
Connie;  what  is  it,  girl?" 

This  last  in  response  to  certain  grimaces  made 
by  his  niece  behind  the  lieutenant's  back. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  he  blundered  on;  "Lieutenant,  I 
think  my  niece  would  like  to  meet  you." 

"  Stupid !"  was  the  word  the  red  lips  framed  in 
silence.  Then  aloud :  "  Meet  Lieutenant  Charl- 

[59] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

ton  ?  We  have  already  met,  have  we  not,  Lieu- 
tenant?" 

The  soldier  bowed,  and  the  girl  courtesied  with 
just  a  suspicion  of  over-elaboration. 

"So-ho,"  cried  Romney,  boisterously,  "sits 
the  wind  in  that  quarter  ?  You  youngsters  are 
too  speedy  for  us  of  the  older  generation.  Met  ? 
How,  pray?'* 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  as  if  seeking 
to  unravel  some  puzzle.  Constance  laughed 
softly. 

"Oh,  we  have  some  tastes  in  common  —  flori- 
culture is  one,  is  it  not,  Lieutenant  Charlton?" 

She  held  up  a  bewitching  pink  thumb  and 
put  it  to  her  mouth  with  a  wince  of  mock  pain. 
Then,  with  an  adorable  toss  of  her  ringletted 
head,  she  pirouetted  away  to  open  her  batteries 
upon  MacAlpine. 

"I  was  in  Lord  Percy's  garden,"  exclaimed 
Charlton,  "  and  tried  to  be  01  some  slight  service 
to  Mistress  Drake's  roses,  which  — 

"Her  pride,  sir,  as  they  were  her  mother's." 

They  fell  to  talking  on  the  military  and  polit- 
ical situation,  the  old  Councillor  full  of  delight 
in  the  airing  of  his  opinons  to  at  least  one  sym- 
pathetic listener.  Cnarlton,  for  his  part,  was 
trying  to  determine  whether  the  fact  that  he  was 
a  King's  soldier,  or  that  Romney  was  Constance's 
uncle,  made  him  so  good  a  listener,  when  a  merry 
burst  of  laughter  from  the  girl  made  both  men 
look  across  the  room. 

"Ha,  MacAlpine,  at  your  quips  again,"  cried 
the  Councillor.  "Come,  man,  let's  have  the 

[60] 


A  STORY  AND  A  SWORD 

jest.  .  .  .  He's  an  old  friend  of  the  family,  Lieu- 
tenant," he  said,  in  a  lower  tone,  "almost,  you 
might  say,  a  foster-father  to  Constance.  .  .  .  The 
jest  now,  Corporal." 

"Sure,  sorr,  Oi  only  raycalled  a  shtory  her 
father  used  to  tell,"  protested  the  swordsman. 

"I'll  warrant  I've  heard  it  then,"  returned 
Romney,  "but  out  with  it!" 

'  'Tis  Connie's  shtory,  sorr  —  that  is,  she  tells 
it  betther  than  Oi." 

"Well,  Constance,  girl,  let's  have  it.  The 
lieutenant  may  be  entertained  —  and  'tis  little 
enough  entertainment  we  give  the  King's  men 
in  this  town." 

The  girl  frowned  ever  so  slightly,  and  a  glint 
of  rebellion  came  into  her  eyes.  But  instantly 
memory  softened  her  resolve.  She  smiled  at 
Charlton  in  a  way  that  set  his  blood  tingling. 

"  Perchance  I  owe  Lieutenant  Charlton  some- 
thing for  a  —  wound,"  she  said  prettily.  "If 
the  story  be  any  recompense  — " 

"Balm,  indeed,  Mistress  Drake." 

"Then  I  will  tell  it.  'Tis  but  a  simple  thing, 
however,  not  to  compare  with  the  stories  they 
say  you  officers  tell  at  mess.  This  was  how  my 
father  gave  it  —  so  Dan  says,  for  I  do  not  re- 
member him:  'The  fencing-master  of  the 
dragoons  had  spent  some  days  in  trying  to  instil 
the  first  principles  of  fence  into  an  Irish  recruit. 
Finally,  after  explaining  a  certain  thrust,  he  said : 

"'Now,  my  lad,  how  would  you  use  your 
weapon  if  your  opponent  feinted  ? 

"  Begorra,'  cried  Michael,  his  eyes  flashing, 

[61] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

'Oi'd  have  none  of  his  thricks.  Oi'd  just  tickle 
him  wid  the  pint  o'  me  shword  to  see  if  he  was 
shamming." 

"Capital!"  cried  the  lieutenant, far  more  cap- 
tivated by  the  vivacity  of  the  reciter  than  by  the 
tale  itself,  while  MacAlpine  roared  as  heartily 
as  if  he  had  not  heard  and  told  the  story  a  hun- 
dred times  himself.  "But  now  I  must  take  my 
leave,  in  truth  I  must,  though  I  — " 

"Come  and  see  us,  Lieutenant,"  said  old 
Romney,  heartily;  "'tis  but  little  luxury  we  can 
show  you  in  these  pinched  times,  but  you  will  be 
welcome." 

The  soldier  turned  to  see  if  he  could  read  an 
indorsement  in  the  girl's  eyes,  but  she  had  al- 
ready seized  a  foil  from  its  rack  and  was  thrust- 
ing carte  and  tierce  at  MacAlpine  as  if  her  life 
depended  upon  her  energy.  In  self-defense  the 
veteran  was  compelled  to  take  a  weapon,  and 
the  clang  of  steel  on  steel  rang  through  the  loft 
as  Charlton  passed  through  the  door. 

"Egad,  she  wears  the  royal  colors,"  he  said  to 
himself,  taking  a  last  look  at  the  cheeks  of  the 
pretty  fencer. 

The  bout  was  brisk,  but  brief,  for  the  Coun- 
cillor was  anxious  to  be  away.  As  if  now  think- 
ing of  his  errand  for  the  first  time,  he  unbuckled 
his  sword  and  gave  it  to  MacAlpine. 

"Polish  it  up  and  make  it  fit  for  use,"  he  said 
simply.  "God  knows  I  hate  to  say  it,  but  I 
cannot  go  unarmed  at  night  in  Boston  hence- 
forth! Come,  Connie,  have  done  with  youi 
frolicking.  We  must  be  home." 

[<*'] 


A  STORY  AND  A  SWORD 

"Good-day,  to  you,  Master  MacAlpine," 
said  the  girl.  "At  another  time  I  will  disarm 
you  for  a  shilling." 

"An'  begorra,  Oi  don't  know  but  phwhat  she 
moight,  if  she  kapes  at  this  pace,"  mused  the 
fencing-master,  as  he  set  to  work  on  Romney's 
sword. 

A  bounding  step  up  the  stairs  interrupted  his 
thoughts  ere  long,  and  then  there  appeared  be- 
fore nim  the  slim,  youthful  figure  of  John  Bran- 
don. He  threw  down  the  sword  and  rose  to 
greet  his  visitor. 

"Why,  Masther  Brandon,  'tis  ye  yersilf, 
sure,"  he  exclaimed.  "An'  phwat,  pray,  can  Oi 
be  afther  doin'  for  ye  ?" 

"Teach  me  to  fight." 

"To  foight,  whirra!  'Tis  lucky  it's  afther 
noon,  thin,  unless  ye're  a  Tory.  .  .  .  But  Oi  thought 
ye  a  man  of  pace  and  of  books." 

"These  are  swirling  times,  MacAlpine,"  re- 
turned Brandon,  with  a  grave  smile.  "  Men  of 
books  will  be  needed  again  after  men  of  deeds 
have  acted." 

'  'Tis  none  of  my  business  to  know,  perhaps," 
said  the  corporal,  kindly,  "but  Oi  can  bist  tell 
your  nade  in  me  tachin'  if  Oi  undershtand  on 
which  side  ye  mane  to  foight." 

"On  the  side  of  right." 

"Then  take  off  your  coat,  John  Brandon," 
exclaimed  MacAlpine,  as  he  took  two  swords 
from  their  resting-place,  and  put  one  in  the 
school-master's  hand.  "  Oi'll  give  ye  of  me  best, 
an'  no  man  can  say  more." 

[63] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

For  an  hour  thereafter,  the  ringing  song  of 
the  steel  was  again  heard.  At  the  end  of  that 
time  MacAlpine  lowered  his  sword,  breathing 
heavily. 

"Oi  niver  thought  to  cry  quits,"  he  exclaimed, 
"but  no  more  for  to-day.  In  the  name  o'  St. 
Patrick,  phwhere  do  ye  carry  so  much  muscle  in 
that  slinaer  body  o'  yours  ? ' 

Brandon  put  on  his  coat  and  hat  with  quick, 
nervous  motions.  It  surprised  even  him  to  find 
how  precious  had  time  become  since  the  night 
before. 

"Shall  I  learn  well?"  he  asked. 

"Larn,  is  it?  Be  the  powers,  it'll  not  take 
me  long  to  tache  ye  all  Oi  Know,  me  boy." 

"That's  glorious  news,  Dan;  I  shall  need  it 
all,  never  fear.  Now,  I'll  home  to  dinner.  I  was 
a  little  later  in  coming  than  I  had  expected." 

"Had  ye  been  earlier,  John,  ye'd  most  like 
found  company  here." 

"  Company?" 

"  Yis;  Councillor  Romney  and  his  niece.  They 
did  me  the  honor  to  pay  ould  Daniel  a  little  visit. 
An'  Liftinant  Charlton  was  here,  too." 

"Constance  Drake?  Charlton?"  repeated 
Brandon,  his  brow  darkening.  "Why,  I  —  but 
I  must  be  off,  Dan.  To-morrow  at  three,  unless 
I  should  be  called  away.  Good-day." 

The  master-at-arms  rubbed  his  wrists  rue- 
fully as  he  put  away  his  sword.  His  ruddy  face 
had  lost  its  jovial  expression  and  in  his  blue  eyes 
there  was  a  look  of  wistful  regret. 

"Oi'm  growin'  ould,  divil  a  doubt  of  it,"  he 

[64] 


A  STORY  AND  A  SWORD 

thought.  "These  youngsthers  have  thried  me. 
Brandon's  arm's  like  a  rock.  Foight,  eh? 
There's  a  woman  at  the  bottom  of  it,  or  me 
name's  not  MacAlpine.  .  .  .  Oho !  Constance  ? 
Poor  divil.  If  so.  he's  fightin'  for  the  wrong 
side,  I  fear." 


[95] 


CHAPTER  IX 
On  Common  Ground 

THE  spring  of  '75  was  long  famed  in  the 
chronicles  of  old  Boston  lor  its  graciously 
early  approach  and  its  lack  of  that  coquettish- 
ness  which  it  often  displayed  toward  mankind. 
Even  March  brought  none  of  its  traditional 
lions,  but  granted  warmth  to  the  earth  and  blue 
and  genial  skies  over  all.  The  confident  grass 
sent  up  its  tender  green;  the  brown  buds  on  the 
trees  began  to  swell  with  the  exuberance  of  new 
life,  and  bluebirds  flashed  through  the  air,  bril- 
liant messengers  of  the  coming  riot  of  nature. 

As  a  result  of  this  indulgent  mood,  the  Mall 
on  the  easterly  side  of  the  Common  presented 
an  unwonted  picture.  For  the  first  time  in 
many  months  it  had  resumed  its  old  function  as 
a  strolling-place  for  the  fashionables  of  the  town, 
and  a  point  of  vantage  for  general  sightseers  of 
less  pretensions.  True  enough  it  was  that  there 
was  and  had  been  little  disposition  for  public 
gaiety,  owing  to  the  ever-oppressing  occupation 
of  the  place  by  the  British;  but  just  now  the 
wonderful  advance  of  spring  tempted  all  classes 
of  people  to  walk  abroad  and  display  whatever 
seasonable  finery  might  still  be  theirs. 

So  upon  a  certain  bright  afternoon  in  early 

[66] 


ON  COMMON  GROUND 

March  the  Mall  was  well  filled  with  those  who 
walked  to  see  and  be  seen.  The  women,  espe- 
cially of  Tory  families,  were  in  their  bravest 
silks  and  satins,  while  here  and  there  one  of  the 
new  head-dresses,  in  the  London  mode,  towered 
above  the  level  of  the  throng,  like  a  huge  gray 
bag  topped  with  the  most  absurd  of  tiny  hats. 
The  brilliant  uniforms  of  the  English  officers, 
rivalled  by  the  parti-colored  velvets  and  satins 
of  a  few  of  the  "loyal  gentlemen,"  as  they  called 
themselves,  and  the  sober  browns  ana  drabs 
of  the  citizens  at  large,  made  up  a  flowing  ka- 
leidoscope of  humanity  that  charmed  more  than 
one  young  and  impressionable  girl. 

But  that  it  was  not  all  parade  and  show  this 
afternoon  was  made  evident  by  the  frequent 
gathering  of  little  groups  along  the  Mall  and  the 
earnest,  sometimes  excited  talk  that  arose  from 
them.  The  people  had  grown  accustomed  to 
the  stern  routine  of  what  was  practically  a  be- 
leaguered town,  and  to  the  redcoats,  who  had 
upset  all  laws  and  reduced  competence  to  com- 
parative poverty,  and  poverty  to  abject  depend- 
ence. Upon  the  very  Common  could  be  seen 
the  white  tents  of  the  King,  and  the  fortifica- 
tions that  shielded  his  men  from  possible  attack. 
This  situation  called  for  no  new  comment;  rumors 
of  what  had  and  might  happen  were  the  chief 
stock-in-trade  of  the  gossips. 

In  one  characteristic  knot  of  the  more  humble 
citizens  little  George  Robert  Twelves  Hewes 
shone  supreme.  He  assumed  to  know  all  that 

[67] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

the  Patriots  were  planning  to  do,  and  much  that 
the  British  had  in  mind.  Nor  did  his  coterie, 
Jonathan  Thomas,  the  barber,  Peleg  Perkins, 
the  chaise-maker,  and  Francis  Johonnot,  the 
tailor,  care  to  dispute  his  knowledge.  They 
were  just  now  bewailing  their  loss  of  trade  by 
reason  of  the  Port  Bill  and  the  Regulations  Act, 
and  were  unanimous  in  foretelling  ruin  for  them- 
selves and  their  families  unless  some  miracle 
should  change  the  times. 

"Well,  friends,"  said  Hewes,  with  his  oracular 
assurance,  "you  may  as  well  prepare  for  worse. 
I  have  it  authoritatively  that  the  town  is  to  be 
set  on  fire  by  order  of  the  Provincial  Congress. 
That'll  scatter  the  rake-hellies,  or  I'm  not  my 
mother's  son." 

"You  may  be  right,  Hewes,"  said  Perkins, 
gloomily,  "nothing  unfortunate  is  impossible 
now." 

"Impossible!  Of  course  not,  neighbor,"  re- 
turned Hewes,  indignantly.  "When  I  say  a 
thing,  I  -  Ah,  good-day  to  ye,  sir." 

The  salutation,  with  a  wonderful  change  of 
voice,  was  for  a  slender,  dapper  man  dressed  in 
the  height  of  fashionable  luxury,  who  was  saun- 
tering by  with  a  buxom  young  woman  on  his 
arm.  His  hair  was  powdered  and  tied  in  a  long 
queue.  His  shirt  was  ruffled  with  costly  lace 
at  the  bosom  and  over  the  hands,  and  gold  but- 
tons gleamed  at  each  wrist.  His  coat,  with  its 
flaring  skirts,  was  of  the  color  of  peach-bloom, 
and  was  lined  with  white  silk.  A  figured  waist- 
coat, black  silk  small-clothes  with  gold  knee 

[68] 


ON  COMMON  GROUND 

buckles,  white  silk  stockings,  and  shoes  with  sil- 
ver buckles,  completed  a  costume  that  few  in  the 
colonies  and  none  in  Boston  could  match  for 
splendor.  He  carried  a  magnificent  gold-headed 
cane  which  he  swung  lightly  as  he  walked. 

Hewes'  companions  regarded  their  mentor 
with  some  astonishment. 

"You  know  Master  Hancock,  then?'*  asked 
Johonnot. 

"Know  John  Hancock?  To  be  sure  I  do," 
returned  Hewes,  impressively.  "Why,  when  I 
was  a  young  lout  I  did  him  a  service  once  and 
was  asked  to  visit  him.  This  I  did  next  day, 
and  was  first  shown  the  kitchen.  But  when 
Master  Hancock  found  who  I  was,  he  took  me 
to  the  dining-room.  I  was  well  frightened,  I 
confess,  but  he  soon  put  me  at  my  ease,  and  we 
clinked  a  glass  of  Madeira  together,  though, 
Lord  knows,  I'd  never  done  such  a  thing  in  my 
life  before.  On  my  leaving  he  pulled  a  crown 
from  his  pocket  and  gave  it  me,  thanking  me  for 
my  punctual  attendance." 

"Humph,"  growled  Johonnot,  "'tis  very  like 
Hancock;  he  gives  largesses  to  win  popularity, 
but  he's  a  hard  man  for  all  that.  He  holds  two 
of  my  notes,  and  I  know  what  I'm  talking 
about." 

"As  he  holds  notes  of  hundreds  all  over  New 
England,"  assented  Thomas.  "'Tis  money, 
money,  money,  with  him,  for  all  his  show  of 
generosity." 

"I'm  not  arguing  that  matter,"  returned 
Hewes,  judicially.  "All  I  say  is  that  I  know 

[69] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

him.  And  I'll  tell  you  something  that  none  of 
ye  were  aware  of:  John  Hancock  and  Sam 
Adams  were  both  at  the  Tea  Party!" 

"You're  jesting,  Neighbor  Hewes,"  exclaimed 
Perkins. 

"Not  I.  I  helped  destroy  a  chest  with  Han- 
cock. I  knew  him  by  the  ruffles  sticking  out 
from  his  Indian  dress,  but  principally  by  his 
voice.  He  grunted  like  a  redsldn,  and  said,  *  Me 
know  you,'  and  I  did  the  same.  I  tell  ye,  Han- 
cock was  there,  and  I'll  swear  to  it." 

"I'll  not  dispute  ye,"  said  Perkins,  "though  I 
thought  not  that  Hancock  was  such  a  fire-eater. 
I've  always  maintained  that  he'd  not  go  to  war, 
if  one  should  come." 

"Nor  I,  neither,"  retorted  Hewes,  "but  for  a 
very  good  reason.  I  tried  to  enlist  in  the  last 
war,  but  was  refused  because  of  my  lack  of 
inches,  forsooth,  as  if  mere  height  made  a  fighter. 
I  went  to  a  shoemaker's  and  got  new  taps  put  on 
my  heels,  stuffed  my  shoes  with  paper  and  rags, 
and  tried  again.  I  had  just  passed  when  some 
busybody  01  a  sergeant  asked  me  to  take  off  my 
shoes,  and  —  well,  I  had  to  stay  at  home.  .  .  . 
Look  at  the  height  of  those  fellows,  now;  can 
they  hit  a  mark  any  better  than  I,  with  all  their 
inches?" 

A  little  party  of  British  officers  was  just  idling 
by,  oglinff  whatever  pretty  women  they  passed, 
and  openly  voicing  their  contempt  for  the  Amer- 
ican men.     Among  them  were  the  redoubtable 
Captain  Mo  watt  and  Lieutenant  Aylesford. 
'S  truth,  the  fellows  are  uncommonly  wrought 
[70] 


ON  COMMON  GROUND 

up,"  the  latter  was  saying.  "Think  you  it  will 
be  war,  Jack?" 

"War!"  exclaimed  Mowatt,  with  his  as  yet 
unquenchable  scorn  for  the  "Yankee  rabble," 
"  they've  no  thought  of  it.  Mere  bullying,  that's 
all.  If  it  came  to  blows,  we'd  have  to  run  to 
catch  'em,  egad." 

"Well,  mayhap,"  returned  Aylesford,  the  less 
sanguine.  "  But  a  truce  to  talk  on  such  a  glori- 
ous afternoon,  and  with  youth  and  beauty  to 
tickle  our  senses.  Let's  watch  the  ladies,  Jack. 
Here  comes  one  pretty  one,  at  least." 

The  pretty  one  was  Mistress  Constance  Drake, 
as  Aylesford  very  soon  discovered,  out  for  a 
stroll  with  her  Uncle  Giles  and  her  Aunt  Tab- 
itha,  a  prim  little  woman,  with  a  face  as  expres- 
sionless as  a  new  cheese.  Constance  had  on  a 
dainty  gown  of  pink  figured  silk,  with  ample  pan- 
niers, just  from  London,  and  her  hair  was  pow- 
dered. With  a  bewitching  half-moon  paten  on 
her  left  cheek,  she  was  a  vision  of  loveliness  that 
had  caused  more  than  one  rake  to  turn  his  head 
that  afternoon. 

"  Aha,  one  of  the  town  beauties !"  cried  Mowatt, 
with  a  rude  stare  of  admiration. 

'Yes,  and  the  daughter  of  a  councillor,"  re- 
turned his  companion.  "  And,  Jack  —  your  ear. 
'Tis  the  girl  you  tried  to  kiss  the  night  of  the 
Queen's  banquet." 

"The  devil  it  is,"  with  another  prolonged 
stare.  "  Ecod,  I  wish  I  had,  though  it  had  cost 
me  my  epaulettes." 

As  the  two  groups  resumed  their  walk  and 

[71] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

passed  one  another,  Constance  noted  Mowatt's 
undisguised  look  of  appreciation.  She  saw  in 
him,  however,  only  an  insolent  soldier,  typifying 
the  attitude  of  a  certain  portion  of  the  military 
toward  the  women  of  what  they  looked  upon  as  a 
conquered  race.  The  thought  of  the  depths  to 
which  this  spirit  might  descend  made  her  shud- 
der in  spite  of  herself.  Arm  in  arm  as  she  was 
with  her  aunt,  she  thus  attracted  the  attention 
of  that  good  lady,  who  was  all  concern  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

"Connie,  dear,  I  fear  you  have  a  chill,"  said 
she.  "I  told  you  not  to  come  without  your 
mantle." 

"Nonsense,  Aunt  Tabitha,"  cried  the  girl. 
"I  am  perfectly  well,  I  assure  you.  You  must 
not  imagine  such  things.  .  .  .  But  tell  me,  who  is't 
with  Mistress  Hancock?" 

"Hs-s-h;  not  so  loud,  dear,"  her  aunt  replied. 
"That  is  Mercy  Warren!" 

Constance  looked  at  the  rather  plain-faced, 
dark-eyed  lady  with  an  altogether  different  in- 
terest. She  had  heard  much  of  the  brilliant  and 
intellectual  wife  of  James  Warren,  of  Plymouth, 
-  poet,  playwright,  and  essayist.  This  sister  of 
James  Otis  had  early  been  attracted  to  the 
cause  of  liberty,  and  her  influence  with  the  noted 
patriots  was  remarkable.  Around  her  Plymouth 
fireside  often  gathered  the  men  who  were  be- 
coming famous,  and  her  advice  and  discretion 
were  highly  prized.  She  was  by  all  odds  the 
foremost  woman  of  New  England,  and  Con- 

[72] 


ON  COMMON  GROUND 

stance,  as  she  gazed,  wondered  what  it  could  be 
like  to  mould  men  when  one  was  a  mere  woman. 

"And  what  kind  fortune,  may  I  ask,  brings 
you  to  town  away  from  peaceful  Plymouth, 
madam  ?"  a  friend  was  saying. 

"  I  am  come  on  a  visit  to  Dorothy  —  Mistress 
Hancock,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  voice  whose  clear 
and  cultured  tones  Constance  noted  with  ap- 
proval. 

Just  then  Dorothy  Hancock  joined  Constance. 

"  My  dear,  I  want  you  to  come  home  with  me," 
said  the  youthful  matron  to  the  girl;  "there  will 
be  some  ladies  I  would  have  you  meet,  among 
them  Mistress  Warren,  and  other  entertainers. 
Pray  say  you'll  come." 

Constance's  indecision  was  for  the  moment 
heightened  by  the  approach  of  Lieutenant  Charl- 
ton  and  Ensign  Cuyler,  arm  in  arm.  The  for- 
mer's fine  face  lighted  with  pleasure  as  he  greeted 
the  girl  and  presented  his  friend.  That  ne  had 
some  other  motive  than  the  mere  passing  the 
time  of  day  was  apparent  after  a  moment's  des- 
ultory chat. 

"I  have  a  favor  to  ask,  Mistress  Drake,"  he 
said  somewhat  diffidently. 

"  A  favor  ?  Lieutenant  Charlton  need  a  favor 
from  a  Boston  girl?  Impossible!"  cried  Con- 
stance. 

"Nevertheless  true,"  the  officer  replied  se- 
riously. 

'Then  —  well,  name  it,  and  we  shall  see." 

"There's  to  be  a  maneuver  of  the  troops  and 
some  target-shooting  at  the  bottom  of  the  Com- 

[73] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

mon  to-morrow.  If  you  would  permit  me  to  be 
your  escort  for  the  occasion,  I  would  be  most 
grateful." 

"Another  lady,  Mistress  Barbara  Brandon, 
goes  with  us,"  put  in  Cuyler. 

Constance  pursed  her  lips  and  scowled  ever 
so  prettily,  as  if  deliberating  some  matter  of  state. 
Charlton  was  plainly  uneasy,  and  she  revelled 
in  his  anxiety. 

"H'm;  to-morrow,"  she  murmured.  "I  know 
not  exactly  what  my  engagements  are  for  to- 
morrow. Mayhap  I  —  but  I  say  neither  yes  nor 
no,  Lieutenant  Charlton;  I  give  a  —  perhaps." 

And  with  that  word  in  its  most  tantalizing 
tone  the  soldier  had  to  be  content,  and  he  went 
away  promising  that  he  would  call  at  the  Rom- 
ney  house  next  day  to  ascertain  the  mind  of  the 
fair  Constance. 

As  the  girl  rejoined  the  party,  she  smiled  to 
hear  her  aunt  say  to  Mercy  Warren : 

"Nay,  Mistress  Warren,  I  am  no  partisan. 
Peace  and  comfort,  to  my  mind,  come  before 
Whigs  and  Tories." 

*  The  good  soul,"  thought  the  girl,  "  she  hardly 
knows  that  Boston  is  occupied  by  troops.  Peace 
and  comfort  —  those  are  her  divinities." 

Mistress  Hancock  now  pressing  her  invitation 
once  more,  old  Romney  took  a  hand  in  the  mat- 
ter. 

"Go,  Connie,  girl,"  he  said,  heartily;  "a  little 
gaiety  will  do  ye  good.  And  besides,"  he  con- 
tinued in  a  whisper,  "there's  a  rumor  abroad 
that  the  Whigs  are  planning  to  burn  the  town. 

[74] 


ON  COMMON  GROUND 

Mayhap  you  can  learn  something  of  this  at  Mas- 
ter Hancock's." 

"So  you'd  make  your  niece  a  spy,  would  you, 
Uncle?"  cried  Constance.  "For  shame,  sir. 
Yet  I'll  go,  nevertheless,  and  you  shall  take  the 
consequences.  .  .  .  Mistress  Hancock,  I  am  at 
your  service." 


176] 


CHAPTER  X 
John  Hancock,  Gentleman 

JOHN  HANCOCK'S  house  was  as  ornate 
and  luxurious  as  was  his  carefully  cherished 
person.  Stately  and  imposing  without,  by  rea- 
son of  its  high-posted  gate,  its  wall  surmounted 
by  a  costly  iron  fence,  its  balcony  and  the  ele- 
gantly decorated  window  leading  to  it,  the  man- 
sion was  still  more  distinguished  within.  At  a 
time  when  chaste  simplicity  ruled  even  among 
the  rich,  Hancock's  residence  resembled  the 
abode  of  a  London  man  of  fashion.  In  the  par- 
lors rare  rugs  lay  upon  floors  of  expensive  woods ; 
French  hangings  of  damask  covered  the  walls; 
splendid  pieces  of  mahogany  and  ebony  filled 
the  eye  by  their  artistic  contours.  The  dining- 
room,  where  sixty  guests  might  be  assembled, 
was  like  the  banquet  hall  of  a  prince  in  its  dis- 
play of  crystal,  silver,  and  gold.  The  stables, 
horses,  and  coaches  were  the  best  in  the  colony, 
and  in  every  element  that  made  for  a  lavish 
mode  of  life,  the  place  had  no  rival  in  the  old 
town.  Here  was  the  abode  of  one  who  by  every 
taste  and  inclination  should  have  been  a  Tory. 
That  Hancock  was  on  the  Patriot  side  was  one 
of  those  curious  freaks  of  fate  that  seem  to  have 
been  partly  from  human  design. 

[70] 


JOHN  HANCOCK,  GENTLEMAN 

In  one  of  the  front  parlors,  Mistress  Hancock, 
Mercy  Warren,  and  Constance  Drake  were 
seated  around  a  little  pearl-inlaid  table,  upon 
which  were  tiny  wine-glasses,  sweet  biscuit,  and 
several  china  cups  and  saucers.  Across  the 
hall,  ever  tapping  at  the  door  of  the  room  to 
which  the  master  of  the  house  had  retired,  they 
could  see  a  constant  stream  of  messengers  and 
Patriot  leaders  coming  for  speech  with  the  pow- 
erful man  of  money.  Among  the  number  Con- 
stance was  amazed  to  find  many  whom  she  had 
always  considered  as  being  on  the  King's  side; 
then  for  the  first  time  did  she  begin  to  real- 
ize the  strength  of  the  latent  rebellion  against 
royalty.  Here  was  pretty  news  for  her  uncle 
already. 

The  advent  of  Agnes,  the  negro  serving- 
woman,  resplendent  in  a  yellow  silk  turban,  and 
bearing  a  steaming  teapot  on  a  silver  tray,  re- 
minded the  girl  that  she  was  a  guest  and  not  a 
political  observer.  She  flashed  a  quizzical  smile 
at  her  friend,  Dorothy,  over  the  significant  tea- 
pot. 

"'Tis  but  a  brew  of  dried  raspberry  leaves," 
said  the  hostess,  bravely,  "and  an  indifferent 
drink  for  you,  Connie,  who  have  the  real  Bohea 
at  home." 

Mercy  Warren  raised  her  eyebrows  with  a 
well-bred,  intellectual  sort  of  surprise.  A  tea- 
drinker  received  in  the  Hancock  mansion?  It 
almost  passed  belief. 

"Yes,"  continued  Dorothy,  "Mistress  Drake, 

[77] 


I  fear,  is  to  be  numbered  among  our  foes.  Her 
uncle,  Giles  Romney,  one  of  our  leading  mer- 
chants and  most  respected  men,  is  still  devoted 
to  the  King." 

Constance  threw  an  adorable  smile,  part  de- 
fiance, part  appeal,  to  the  stern-faced  blue-stock- 
ing across  the  table.  Mercy  Warren  felt  its 
warmth  even  through  the  icy  resolve  of  her  un- 
compromising patriotism. 

"So  devoted  is  Uncle  Giles,"  cried  the  girl, 
"that  whereas  he  never  drank  tea  until  you 
Whigs  called  it  vile  stuff  and  threw  the  chests 
overboard,  he  now  must  have  it  morning,  noon, 
and  night,  and  often  between  meals.  There's 
nothing  half-way  about  my  uncle." 

So  saying  she  raised  her  fragile  cup  to  her  lips 
and  took  a  swallow  of  the  raspberry  leaf  brew. 
Despite  the  demands  of  good  manners  a  little 
dainty  quiver  of  disgust  passed  over  her  at  the 
taste  of  the  weird  concoction. 

"I  told  you  it  would  irk  you,  Connie,"  said 
Mistress  Hancock,  "and  no  wonder.  But  we 
like  it,  do  we  not,  Mercy  ?" 

The  poet  bowed  solemnly.  She  would  have 
drunk  wormwood  with  the  utmost  gusto  had  the 
cause  demanded.  To  her  earnest  nature,  food, 
drink,  raiment,  even  life  itself,  were  all  meas- 
ured by  the  standard  of  devotion  to  liberty. 
With  her  hostess  the  mainspring  of  action  was 
the  adoration  of  a  man  —  John  Hancock.  But 
she  was  not  too  partisan  to  have  a  very  warm 
affection  for  Constance,  and,  womanlike,  she 

[78] 


JOHN  HANCOCK,  GENTLEMAN 

wished  Mercy  to  approve  of  her  bright  and  lov- 
able friend. 

"Constance  is  a  Tory  by  education,  so  to 
speak,  rather  than  by  birth,"  she  said.  "Her 
uncle,  who  has  brought  her  up,  has  yet  to  see 
the  true  light,  but  her  father,  a  gallant  Irish 
officer,  were  he  alive,  would  be  on  the  right  side. 
As  for  Connie  — " 

"  She's  a  fiery  Tory  whose  head  doesn't  bother 
itself  about  your  prosy  politics.  Why  cannot 
the  different  parties  laugh  and  be  friends  ?  " 

"My  dear  child,"  replied  Mistress  Warren, 
her  even,  finely  modulated  voice  taking  on  the 
tone  of  one  reproving  a  small  upstart,  *  we  used 
to  laugh  with  one  another  over  our  disagree- 
ments, but  the  time  for  that  has  passed  long 
since.  When  we  shall  smile  together  again, 
God  in  his  providence  only  knows." 

Constance  felt  the  solemnity  of  the  words, 
and  the  thoughts  they  suggested;  indeed,  were 
they  not  in  effect  her  own  on  the  night  of  the  tur- 
moil before  the  Coffee  House  ?  But  the  imp  of 
the  perverse  would  not  let  her  bow  before  Mercy 
Warren's  mind  at  once. 

"Why,  Mistress  Warren,"  she  replied,  gaily, 
as  she  pretended  to  nibble  at  a  biscuit,  "you  are 
^ery  like  Mistress  Adams  —  Mistress  Samuel 
Adams,  I  mean.  She  is  ever  as  sober  as  a  jus- 
tice when  politics  are  talked.  She  did  not  even 
see  cause  for  laughter  in  the  letter  she  had  yes- 
terday from  her  friend,  Mistress  Cowper,  while 
I  — "  The  burst  of  merriment  that  rang  out 
caused  the  callers  in  the  room  opposite  to  won- 

[79] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

der  at  the  sudden  levity  in  the  house  of  Hancock. 

"So  amusing  as  that?"  exclaimed  Dorothy. 
"Pray  tell  us,  then,  at  once,  what  'twas  in  the 
letter." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  say  it  as  well  as  'twas  writ,  but 
thus  it  ran:  Some  of  the  Whig  ladies  of  Phila- 
delphia have  been  so  very  bold  and  naughty  as 
to  copy  the  new  London  head-dress,  the  mon- 
strous high  tower  we  have  seen  here  on  a  few  of 
the  officers'  wives.  An'  'twere  the  true  badge 
of  Toryism,  their  Whig  cavaliers  plead  with  them 
to  desist,  but  the  fashion-crazed  ladies  would 
not.  Then  the  men  got  a  fat  negro  wench,  and 
clapped  on  her  the  full  costume  of  the  court  with 
a  nead-dress  taller  than  any  yet  seen.  Her 
they  put  in  a  public  place  where  the  fashionables 
displayed  their  towering  top-knots,  and  after- 
ward paraded  her  through  the  principal  streets. 
The  airs  and  graces  of  the  blackamoor  so  shamed 
the  Whig  ladies,  so  they  say,  that  not  a  great 
head-dress  has  since  been  seen  on  'em." 

Mercy  Warren  was  charmed  by  the  person- 
ality of  the  pretty  story-teller,  and  the  graceful 
pantomime  with  which  she  enlivened  the  anec- 
dote. As  ever,  her  thoughts  turned  toward  the 
object  of  all  her  hopes. 

''What  an  aid  to  the  cause  if  she  — "  was  her 
whispered  comment. 

Mistress  Hancock  nodded  sapiently.  Women, 
she  well  knew,  played  many  a  powerful  role  in 
the  great  game  of  the  day.  Youth,  beauty,  and 
brilliancy  —  a  trinity  that  oft  weighs  more  than 

rsoi 


JOHN  HANCOCK,  GENTLEMAN 

wisdom  —  were  here  for  the  winning.  But 
how? 

Constance  rose  to  take  her  leave. 

"Before  I  go,  Dorothy,"  she  said,  radiantly, 
"  I  ought  to  tell  you  why  I  came  to-day.  Uncle 
Giles  sent  me  as  a  spy." 

"A  spy!"  exclaimed  Mistress  Warren,  as  yet 
unused  to  this  strange  young  woman.  Dorothy 
Hancock  smiled  amiably. 

"Prithee,  do  not  be  alarmed.  I'm  really 
quite  a  harmless  spy.  Uncle  has  heard  that  the 
4  upstart  rebels,'  as  he  calls  them,  are  to  burn 
the  town  about  our  ears,  and  he  thought  I  might 
get  the  truth  in  this  quarter." 

"Here  is  one  who,  I  think,  can  assure  you," 
said  Mistress  Hancock,  pride  in  the  inflection  of 
every  word. 

Constance  turned  to  find  that  the  resplendent 
master  of  the  house  had  entered  the  room  as  she 
had  been  speaking.  She  noted  with  an  unde- 
fined feeling  of  contempt  that,  since  returning 
from  his  decorative  walk  abroad,  he  had  made 
an  entire  change  of  raiment.  A  red  velvet  cap 
surmounted  his  well-shaped  head,  and  he  wore 
a  blue  damask  house  gown,  a  white  silk  embroi- 
dered waistcoat,  and  black  satin  smallclothes. 
His  silver-buckled  shoes  had  been  changed  for 
red  morocco  slippers  which  displayed  his  small 
and  shapely  feet  to  perfection.  As  he  stood 
there  bowing  and  smiling,  one  bejewelled  hand 
placed  advantageously  over  his  heart,  the  girl 
was  lost  in  amazement  that  such  a  figure  should 

[81] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

stand  so  high  in  the  counsels  of  the  King's 
enemies. 

"  An*  it  please  you,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  low 
courtesy,  my  Uncle  Giles  would  fain  know  the 
truth,  even  if  it  be  the  worst." 

Hancock  looked  upon  the  fair  face  most  be- 
nignly. He  scattered  largess  even  in  his  words, 
when  that  were  possible. 

"I  think  I  can  safely  announce,  Mistress 
Drake,"  he  observed,  "that  the  Patriots  will  do 
no  harm  to  Boston  —  while  I  am  here." 

Constance  darted  a  keen  glance  at  the  com- 
placent face,  and  then  at  the  other  ladies.  A 
faint  smile  flickered  across  Mercy  Warren's  fine 
mouth,  while  Dorothy  regarded  her  splendid 
lord  with  her  usual  reverence. 

"How  very  stupid  of  uncle  and  of  me,"  ex- 
claimed the  young  girl  with  another  and  deeper 
courtesy;  "  we  ought  to  have  known." 

"I  am  charmed  to  set  you  both  at  rest,"  re- 
joined Hancock;  "would  that  all  Tories  were 
as  easily  satisfied  —  or  Whigs,  either,  for  that 
matter,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh.  "My  position 
is  an  expensive  one,  very.  .  .  .  Dorothy,  my  dear, 
I  came  hither  for  that  latest  memorandum  of  my 
debtors,  for  my  collector,  Bant.  Have  you  seen 
it  hereabouts?" 

Mistress  Hancock  produced  a  formidable- 
looking  paper  from  a  desk  and  held  it  up  for 
inspection. 

"Ah,  yes,  the  very  one;  thank  you,  my  dear," 
said  the  master  of  the  house.  "I  must  send 

[82J 


JOHN  HANCOCK,  GENTLEMAN 

Bant  out  at  once.  Several  of  the  notes  I  hold 
are  overdue,  and  I  must  proceed  against  the 
makers.  Money  has  not  been  coming  in  well 
of  late.  .  .  .  Ladies,  my  duty."  And  the  great 
man  walked  gracefully  out  into  his  private 
room. 


CHAPTER  XI 
At  Cross  Purposes 

AS  Constance  bade  good-by  to  her  hostess 
and  Mercy  Warren,  she  saw  John  Brandon 
enter  Hancock  s  apartment  ahead  of  others,  as 
if  he  had  been  expected.  She  had  not  met  with 
the  young  scholar  since  the  night  of  the  at- 
tempted British  kiss,  and  she  now  realized  with 
a  feeling  of  proud  resentment  that  he  had  never 
availed  nimself  of  her  uncle's  invitation  to  come 
and  be  thanked. 

"  I  shall  not  thank  him  now,  no,  indeed,"  she 
thought.  "After  all  what  did  he  do?  He  did 
not  even  wear  a  sword,  and  but  for  Percy  he 
might  have  been  run  through." 

Percy,  she  reflected,  had  not  been  averse  to 
calling.  Yet  the  brother  of  her  old  friend,  Bar- 
bara —  She  would  go  home  at  once  and  bother 
her  head  no  more  about  it. 

Yet  curiously  enough  she  found  herself  linger- 
ing at  the  lower  step.  She  took  a  sudden  interest 
in  the  green  tips  of  the  tulip  plants  just  peeping 
above  the  warm  earth.  How  very  early  they 
were  this  year;  they  were  surely  worth  a  mo- 
ment's study.  Then  a  sudden  deciding  thought 
came  to  her. 

"  He  may  be  able  to  give  me  some  of  the  news 

[84J 


AT  CROSS  PURPOSES 

that  uncle  seeks.  .  .  .  Why  is  he  here  to  see  Han- 
cock? Something  about  the  school,  I  suppose." 

Evidently,  the  errand  was  brief,  for  in  a  few 
minutes  John  Brandon  came  out  and  ran  briskly 
down  the  steps. 

"Why,  good-day,  Mistress  Drake,"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  great  surprise,  and  made  as  if  to 
pass  her. 

"Lackaday,  Master  Brandon,"  the  girl  re- 
torted, "  are  you  in  such  mortal  haste  ?" 

"No,  perhaps  not,"  he  replied,  smiling, 
"though  in  these  days  time  moves  fast." 

"  So  it  seems,  when  you  have  not  enough  to  be 
civil." 

Had  John  Brandon  been  as  good  a  student 
of  eyes  as  of  books,  he  would  have  seen  some- 
thing that  would  have  been  a  warning. 

"Civil?  I?  Wherein  have  I  offended  Mis- 
tress Drake?"  he  asked,  fatuously. 

"Mistress  Drake  not  at  all,"  replied  Con- 
stance icily,  "but  my  Uncle  Romney  takes  it 
ill  that  you  did  not  come  for  his  thanks  for  the 
—  the  little  service  you  did  him  in  Rawson's 
Lane." 

"  Service  ?  'Twas  no  more  than  a  man  must 
have  done.  And  it  valued  nothing.  But  had  I 
a  sword  that  night,  I'd  have  run  the  scoundrel 
through,  cost  what  it  might." 

"Ono,  Master  John,  talk  you  so  fiercely  of 
swords?"  she  cried, mockingly,  yet  beginning  to 
feel  admiration  for  the  flash  of  the  eye  she  had 
never  seen  before.  "  What  should  swords  mean 
for  him  who  instructs  youth  in  the  peaceful  arts  ?" 

[85] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"There  is  no  longer  peace,  Constance,"  he 
replied  gravely,  "ana  I  am  no  more  a  teacher." 

"No?  I  tad  not  heard.  Is  the  school 
closed?" 

"Nay,  but  I  —  well,  I  am  in  other  service." 

A  smile,  half-pitying,  curled  her  pretty  lips. 
She  pointed  to  the  house. 

"  Not  —  not  in  that  of  the  splendid  creature 
yonder  ?  Not  in  John  Hancock's,  whom  for  the 
life  of  me  I  could  scarcely  help  my-lording?" 

"No,  not  in  his,  yet  in  a  sense  for  him." 

"  Not  in  his,  yet —  Ah,  John,  are  you  in  league 
with  these  —  these  'Patriots'  ?" 

She  ground  her  dainty  heel  impatiently  into 
the  sod.  Something  in  the  act,  in  the  tone  of 
her  voice,  suggested  concern.  For  him  ?  The 
thought  filled  him  with  rapture,  even  though  he 
knew  his  path  was  not  hers.  Then,  man-fash- 
ion, he  blurted  out  the  truth. 

"Constance,  what  I  do  is  not  my  secret,  but 
no  harm  can  come,  save  to  me,  to  tell  you  that  I 
serve  the  Patriot  cause." 

No  man  can  stand  forth  and  bravely  tell  a 
woman  what  he  thinks  will  injure  him  in  her  re- 
gard without  winning  admiration  for  that  very 
act.  So  with  Constance.  Never  had  the  stu- 
dious John  Brandon  seemed  so  important  a 
character,  so  fine  a  type  of  young  manhood. 
She  wondered  if  the  Patriot  cause  improved  all 
its  recruits  thus.  Even  his  face  seemed  hand- 
some, so  lighted  up  was  it  by  the  fire  of  a  new- 
found career.  This  was  a  man  to  storm  the 
citadel  of  a  woman's  heart,  not  a  meek  suppliant 

[861 


AT  CROSS  PURPOSES 

just  emerging  from  his  burial  among  his  books. 
Had  Brandon  but  known !  But  he,  poor  wretch, 
was  only  counting  with  sorrow  the  effect  he 
thought  his  declaration  must  have  had  upon  the 
little  Tory.  So  the  game  of  cross  purposes 
went  on. 

"  Well,  sir,  if  you  are  plotting  with  the  enemies 
of  the  King  - 

"Not  the  King,  Constance  —  his  tyrant  min- 
isters." 

"Of  the  King,"  she  went  on  deliberately, 
"that  is  your  personal  peril,  and,  of  course,  not 
of  moment  to  me.  But"  -  and  her  voice  sud- 
denly shifted  to  tenderness —  "must  we  forget 
our  old  friendship,  can  we  blot  out  our  childhood, 
simply  because  you  are  Whig  and  I  am  Tory? 
Nay,  Master  John,  if  your  precious  service  de- 
mand that  — " 

"Constance!"  cried  the  young  man,  his  heart 
torn  with  conflicting  emotions  out  of  which  grew 
one  great,  compelling  desire  to  clasp  her  in  his 
arms  then  and  there  in  the  public  street.  Some- 
thing of  this  the  girl  divined. 

"Have  a  care,  sir,"  she  laughed,  "others  be- 
side ourselves  are  walking  abroad.  And  forget 
not  that  you  are  Whig  and  I  am  —  for  the  King's 
men.  .  .  .  Bv  the  by,  the  soldiers  are  to  have  a 
monstrous  fine  show  on  the  Common  to-morrow, 
as  I  suppose  you  know.  You  attend,  mayhap  ?" 

"  Nay,  Constance,  I  care  not  to  see  the  sports 
of  our  oppressors.  Besides,  I  have  duties  to 
perform.' 

"Not  if  — if  I  go,  too?" 

[87] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Nay,  I—" 

"With  you?"  There  was  that  in  the  voice 
that  must  have  been  in  the  tones  of  the  Siren  of 
old.  John  Brandon  outdid  Ulysses,  for  his  ears 
were  not  stopped,  yet  he  did  not  yield. 

"I  —  I  have  my  work,"  he  said  stoutly. 

The  girl  tossed  her  head  airily.  "So  be  it, 
Master  Rebel,"  she  exclaimed.  "If  playing 
at  war  be  more  to  your  taste  than  giving  your 
old  playmate  a  bit  of  sightseeing  in  this  hum- 
drum town,  why  should  I  complain  ?  " 

"But,  Constance,"  he  pleaded,  "you  surely 
would  not  have  me  fail  my  duty  ?" 

A  little  moue,  too  dainty  for  a  sneer,  lifted  the 
corner  of  the  rosy  mouth. 

"There  are  those  whose  duty,"  she  said,  "  does 

\ 

not  quite  forbid  them  to  be  gallant  —  e'en 
though  their  duty  bids  them  wear  sword  and 
epaulet,  which  yours,  it  seems,  does  not." 

"Since  you  have  so  set  your  heart  upon  this," 
he  rejoined,  heedless  of  the  taunt,  "I  am  very 
sorry  that  I  — ' 

"  Oh,  I  shall  have  no  lack  of  escort  —  safe 
escort  —  of  the  King's  men." 

] The  King's  men?" 

"Aye;  we  shall  be  a  merry  party,  Lieutenant 
Charlton  and  Ensign  Cuyler  and  myself,  and  — 
and  your  sister  Barbara. 

Brandon's  face  grew  stern.  His  beautiful, 
loved  sister  in  such  company!  He  was  incredu- 
lous. 

" Barbara?"  he  exclaimed.     "Surely  not." 

"And  why,  pray?     Shall  she  sit  in  Quaker 

IBS] 


AT  CROSS  PURPOSES 

Lane  and  mope  while  her  brother  rides  abroad 
—  I  believe  you  said  you  rode?" 

"She  —  with  them?"  he  said,  almost  as  to 
himself.  The  possibilities  of  bitter  complica- 
tions loomed  up  before  him  in  an  instant. 

Constance  laughed  mockingly. 

"How  like  a  man!"  she  cried.  "Let  him 
make  up  his  mind  of  a  sudden  to  some  new  whim, 
some  freak  of  conduct,  and  ho,  la !  all  his  women 
kin  must  up  and  follow  him,  if  only  in  their 
thoughts  and  moods." 

' 'You  are  unjust,"  he  replied  angrily.  "I 
only  seek  to  do  what  is  right  and  best  for  our 
country,  for  Boston,  —  for  you." 

"For  me,  indeed?  What  would  you  do  for 
me?" 

"  Anything;  everything ! " 

She  beamed  upon  the  wretched  fellow  once 
more,  and  the  spring  sunshine  was  far  outdone. 

"Then  be  my  escort  to  the  field  to-morrow." 

Darkness  again.  Why  had  she  not  asked  him 
to  die  for  her,  to  perform  some  prodigy  of  valor, 
to  move  the  world  —  instead  of  harking  back 
to  this  business  of  the  morrow  that  was  so  small 
and  so  impossible  ? 

"That  I  may  not  do,"  he  replied  sadly.  "I 
wait  orders  to-night  to  ride  on  the  instant  to  - 

"Well,  to  where?" 

She  had  caught  up  his  hesitancy  with  a  steely 
hardness  that  was  more  distressing  to  him  than 
even  her  contempt  could  be.  It  suggested  a 
barrier  of  mistrust  that  was  worse  than  hate. 

[891 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Surely  this  being  a  Patriot  tried  men's  souls  — 
and  hearts.  But  he  replied  steadily  enough  — 

"That  I  cannot  tell.' 

"Because  I  am  a  Tory,  I  suppose,"  she  said, 
her  chin  in  air.  "Yet  I  am  none  the  less  Con- 
stance Drake." 

"The  plans  are  not  mine.  And  I  have  given 
my  oath  to  secrecy." 

"'Tis  of  small  concern  to  me,"  she  returned 
with  her  keen,  delicate  tone  of  scorn.  "Good- 
day  to  you,  Master  —  Rebel.  My  path  lies 
this  way,  yours  that."  And  she  turned  and 
started  briskly  away. 

"Constance,"  he  implored,  "one  moment." 

"Yes." 

"It  pains  me  that  I  have  offended  you." 

"  O^ended  ?  Me  ?  "  she  replied  gaily.  "  How 
could  you  offend  me  ?  I  was  but  civil  to  you  as 
was  befitting  to  your  sister's  brother.  Good- 
day." 

John  Brandon  looked  after  her  for  a  moment, 
then  turned  resolutely  and  walked  proudly  away. 
And  Constance,  in  turn,  stopped  and  ga/ed  at 
the  well-set,  manly  figure  of  the  ex-student.  She 
raised  her  pretty  shoulders  ever  so  slightly. 

"Heigho!  Has  this  'patriotism*  made  him 
quite  the  fool  ?"  she  said. 


fool 


CHAPTER  XII 
Comedy  and  Tragedy 

/CONSTANCE  DRAKE  combed  the  pretty 
\^J(  tangles  of  her  brown-red  hair  next  morning, 
with  a  vague  unrest  in  her  heart,  she  could  not 
quite  say  what.  Perhaps  she  had  not  slept  as 
peacefully  as  her  wont ;  perhaps  —  Ah !  A  gay 
DOW  of  red  ribbon  she  had  worn  but  yesterday: 
there  was  the  culprit,  for  in  its  brilliant  hue  lay 
the  suggestion  of  Lieutenant  Charlton's  scarlet 
coat,  and  then  the  remembrance  of  her  half- 
promise  to  go  with  him  to  the  maneuvers  on  the 
Common,  and  her  unsuccessful  attempts  to  ob- 
tain John  Brandon  as  an  escort  instead.  In  a 
pet  she  pounced  upon  the  poor  bit  of  finery  and 
thrust  it  crumpled  and  disgraced  into  a  drawer, 
as  if  she  would  imprison  in  its  perfumed  dark- 
ness all  the  vexations  and  misunderstandings  of 
her  little  world. 

Then  she  bethought  herself  that  the  weather 
might  have  turned  capricious.  She  raised  her 
window  and  looked  abroad.  The  sun  was  warm 
and  unclouded,  the  air  balmy  and  the  bluebirds 
rioting  in  the  spring.  There  was  little  hope  in 
this  Quarter. 

"Yet  I'll  not  go,"  she  told  herself  emphatically 
more  than  once  as  she  finished  her  toilet. 

[91] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

At  breakfast  the  girl  found  the  Councillor  in  a 
state  of  mild  perturbation.  He  disliked  his  tea, 
railed  at  the  quality  of  his  bacon,  and  greatly 
shocked  good  Tabitha  by  consigning  a  bit  of 
slightly  burned  toast  to  a  region  where  it  must 
certainly  get  blackened  entirely.  Constance 
knew  the  signs. 

"What's  amiss,  uncle?"  she  asked,  in  her 
straightforward  way.  "Surely,  when  you  find 
breakfast  so  bad,  there's  other  matter  at  the 
bottom  of  it." 

"I  dread  the  day,"  replied  old  Romney, 
shortly. 

"Dread  the  day?" 

"Aye.  For,  look  ye,  Monday  next  is  the  an- 
niversary of  what  the  rebels  call  the  '  Massacre,' 
and  this  unusual  display  in  the  Saturday  ma- 
neuvers is  doubtless  meant  as  a  warning. 

"Do  they  not  need  it?"  asked  Constance, 
wondering  the  while  how  John  Brandon  would 
look  upon  such  means  of  intimidation. 

"That  they  do,"  replied  her  uncle,  "but  the 
rascals  have  such  tempers  nowadays,  that  I  fear 
'twill  provoke  rather  than  overawe  'em." 

Aunt  Tabitha's  placid  face  paled  a  little. 
"Maneuvers"  was  to  the  good  lady  a  word  of 
dread,  though  she  could  hardly  have  told  why. 

'You  will  not  go  abroad,  Constance?"  she 
ventured  timorously. 

"No,  I  think  not.  Not  that  I  am  afraid, 
though,"  exclaimed  the  girl  warmly,  her  cheeks 
glowing.  "Tisthatl- 

"Pray  do  not,  child,"  urged  her  aunt,  fearing 

[92] 


COMEDY  AND  TRAGEDY 

some  yery  Constance-like  change  of  decision. 
And  then  with  a  sigh:  "Would  these  troublous 
times  might  end!" 

"They  will,  madam,"  cried  Romney,  "when 
once  the  rebels  raise  hand  against  the  King's 
colors.  I  tell  ye— 

What  further  defiance  Giles  Romney  had  for 
his  misguided  townsmen  was  stopped  by  a 
knocking  at  the  porch  door,  and  the  appearance 
a  moment  later  of  Barbara  Brandon,  plump 
and  pretty  and  demure,  looking  amazingly  sweet 
in  her  simple  finery.  Constance  kissed  her 
heartily,  and  carried  her  away  to  her  own  room 
instanter.  There  Barbara  confessed  that  she 
was  on  her  way  to  the  drill. 

"Fie  upon  you,  Bab;  are  you,  then,  so  anxious 
for  the  day  —  and  the  fine  soldiers  ?" 

Barbara's  rosy  cheeks  deepened  in  color,  and 
she  nodded  in  embarrassed  fashion. 

"Ensign  Cuyler  is  a  brave  fellow  in  his  trap- 
pings," observed  Constance,  making  a  pretence 
of  smoothing  the  coverlet  of  her  billowy  bed, 
but  keeping  the  simple  little  visitor  in  range  of  a 
corner  of  her  eye.  This  time  she  saw  a  very 
real  blush  on  the  round  cheeks. 

"  Why  —  I  —  how  ?  "  stammered  Barbara. 

"He  mentioned  you  but  yesterday;  told  me 
you  were  to  go  to  this  —  this  show.  Come, 
nave  you  no  tongue,  child  ?  " 

It  was  her  habit  to  regard  her  friend  as  youth- 
ful, and  under  her  particular  guardianship,  al- 
though John  Brandon's  sister  was  some  months 
older  than  she.  But  as  age  in  young  women  is 

[93] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

merely  an  expression  of  their  experiences  and 
temperaments,  Mistress  Drake  was,  in  effect, 
Barbara's  senior,  and  so  acknowledged. 

"I  thought  I'd  come  as  early  as  I  could,"  was 
all  that  Barbara  found  to  say.  But  it  was  sig- 
nificant, since  it  carried  with  it  the  conviction 
that  Constance  was  to  accompany  her. 

"I'm  sorry,  Bab,"  said  her  friend,  kindly, 
"but  I  scarcely  feel  like  going  forth  to-day. 
The  air,  I  fear  me,  is  chill." 

"Nay,"  replied  Barbara,  her  blue  eyes  open- 
ing with  surprise,  "  'tis  like  May.  Come  hither 
to  the  window  and  see." 

"  Is  it  ?     Very  like,  then.     But  I  must  not  go." 

"So  said  John.  'Tis  strange,"  observed  Mis- 
tress Brandon,  with  puzzled  simplicity.  But 
Constance  swooped  down  upon  her  words  as  a 
hawk  upon  a  chick. 

'  *  So  said  John ' !     How  mean  you,  child  ?  " 

;<  Yes,  indeed,  but  this  very  morning  he  asked 
me  to  come  and  urge  you  not  to  go.  There  was 
danger,  he  said." 

"Danger!  With  the  King's  army  right  at 
hand!  'Tis  absurd." 

"Twas  the  soldiers  he  feared,  methinks." 

"So?"  said  Constance  with  a  smile.     Then: 

"And  he  said  I  must  not  go  ?" 

Barbara  inclined  her  pretty,  primly  dressed 
head. 

"Well,  we  shall  see!" 

Whereupon  Mistress  Drake  threw  open  the 
door  of  her  great  closet,  and  disappeared  within 
its  depths  for  a  moment,  only  to  emerge  with 

(94) 


COMEDY  AND  TRAGEDY 

her  handsomest  gown  and  a  mantle  of  fur-edged 
satin.  Without  a  word  she  began  rapidly  to 
dress,  humming  a  tune  from  the  Vauxhall  the 
while.  Nor  did  Barbara  break  in  upon  her;  the 
girl  was  too  busy  with  her  own  thoughts. 

The  two  a  little  later  came  forth  from  the 
Romney  mansion,  to  the  great  distrust  of  Tab- 
itha,  who  firmly  believed  that  both  might  be 
killed  before  afternoon,  and  walked  the  few 
steps  to  the  Common  Mall,  the  observed  and 
admired  of  Whig  and  Tory  alike.  For  the  most 
part,  the  townspeople,  though  they  had  turned 
out  in  force  to  see  the  display,  were  sullen  and 
heavy-browed;  yet,  when  two  such  spring  divin- 
ities walked  abroad,  it  was  not  in  the  heart  of 
man  to  flout  them. 

On  the  Mall  they  found  Lieutenant  Charlton 
and  Ensign  Cuyler  pacing  up  and  down  in  their 
bravest  array  of  red  and  gold,  fine  and  hand- 
some figures  both.  They  were  quickly  appro- 
priated and  paired  off,  Cuyler  and  blusning, 
trembling,  happy  little  Barbara  behind  the  others. 
Even  in  her  own  delight  the  simple  girl  had  room 
for  joy  in  the  fact  that  Constance,  whom  she 
could  hear  talking  banter  with  Charlton,  was 
in  one  of  her  brilliant  and  fascinating  moods. 

The  regiments  were  now  marching  by  on  their 
way  to  the  parade  ground,  and  the  martial 
music,  the  pageantry  of  military  equipment  and 
the  sparkling  air  of  a  perfect  spring  day,  were 
just  the  tonic  for  hearts  young  and  old.  To 
Constance  came  a  certain  exhilarating  pleasure 
to  think  that  she  had  defied  sober,  studious,  re- 

[95] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

bellious  John  Brandon,  and  was  here  in  the 
centre  of  a  gay  scene  with  a  courtly,  solicitous 
officer  as  her  personal  property.  Yet  she  would 
not  for  the  world  have  given  Charlton  the  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  that  fact.  Indeed,  she  took  no 
pains  to  treat  him  with  consideration. 

"  Why  are  you  not  on  parade,  too,  Lieutenant 
Charlton?"  she  asked,  as  an  especially  gorgeous 
company  marched  past  them. 

"*Tis  my  furlough  day,"  he  replied.  "To- 
morrow Cuyler  and  I  are  of  the  guard." 

"Ah!  Then  you  are  not  for  show,  but  for 
work.  A  nice  distinction,  sir." 

At  the  bottom  of  the  Common,  they  found 
interest  centered  in  a  large  squad  of  men  firing 
at  a  target  set  up  in  the  water.  The  salient 
feature  of  the  scene  was  a  gigantic  countryman 
who  towered  above  the  heads  of  the  rest  like  a 
beanstalk  above  pea-plants.  He  was  near  the 
firing  line,  watching  the  shooting  with  apparent 
wonder.  To  him  spoke  Captain  Jack  Mo  watt, 
in  command  of  the  party,  with  the  evident  intent 
of  furnishing  amusement  for  himself  and  his 
men. 

"Well,  friend,  what  think  you  of  the  shoot- 
ing?" he  asked,  patronizingly. 

"Fair  enow,  I  guess,"  returned  the  rustic 
giant,  producing  a  prodigious  red  kerchief  and 
tweaking  his  nose  vigorously.  "Fair  enow." 

"Fair  enow,  you  guess,"  mocked  Mowatt, 
just  as  a  soldier  hit  the  target.  "What  d'ye 
think  o'  that?  Who  can  beat  that  ?" 

"I   kin,    I   guess,"    replied   the   countryman, 

[96] 


COMEDY  AND  TRAGEDY 

chewing  bovinely  a  wisp  of  straw  held  in  the 
corner  of  his  mouth. 

Mowatt  was  nettled.  "  Here,  lads,"  he  cried, 
"  here's  a  fellow  who  says  he  can  beat  you  shoot- 
ing. What  think  ye  of  it?" 

The  soldiers  grinned,  and  moved  forward  to 
see  what  manner  of  man  was  this  country  colos- 
sus who  ventured  to  so  contemn  the  regulars. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mowatt  indulgently,  "you 
shall  show  us  how  to  shoot.  Load  him  half  a 
dozen  of  the  best  guns." 

"  Any  gun'll  do,  '  observed  the  big  man  mildly, 
"but  I  rayther  guess  I'll  load  it  myself." 

Having  arranged  powder,  ball-wadding  and 
flint  to  his  satisfaction,  he  raised  the  gun  to  his 
shoulder  and  squinted  along  its  barrel  for  a  brief 
second. 

"Whar'll  ye  hev  the  bullet,  Cap?"  he  asked. 

"To  the  right  of  the  bull's-eye,"  returned 
Mowatt. 

Within  an  inch  of  the  black  centre  of  the  tar- 
get and  on  the  side  desired  the  lead  tore  its  way 
into  the  wood.  Mowatt  gasped  with  astonish- 
ment, and  the  soldiers  pressed  closer. 

"  Where  neaow  ?  " 

"To  the  left." 

Again  the  wizard's  lead  flew  to  its  place.  A 
vast  smile  overspread  the  face  of  the  giant. 

"And  wh&T' neaow?"  he  inquired  of  the  al- 
most paralyzed  Mowatt. 

"  In  the  center,  damn  you ! "  returned  the  angry 
officer. 

Straight  into  the  dark  circle  sped  the  bullet. 

[97] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

The  countryman  swept  the  gaping  crowd  with 
his  expressionless  eyes. 

"The  devil  is  in  him,"  muttered  Mowatt,  a 
feeling  of  uneasiness  coming  over  him.  What 
if  the  others  of  this  man's  kind  could  shoot  like 
that  ?  He  tried  to  turn  it  off  with  a  jest. 

"  You're  quite  a  big  fellow,"  he  said  rather 
feebly. 

"Likely,"  returned  the  farmer,  "but  mother 
says  I  was  always  undersized." 

"Are  there  others  where  you  come  from  as 
big  as  you,  then  ?" 

*  I'm  one  of  the  smallest." 

"That'll  do,  my  man,"  warned  Mowatt. 
"But  how  would  you  like  to  take  the  King's 
shilling  —  enlist,  I  mean  ?  " 

"Fight?" 

"Aye." 

"  Guess  I'd  rayther  not." 

"Afraid,  eh?  'Tis  odd,  for  you  surely  can 
shoot." 

"My  young  brother  Seth,  he  don't  think  so." 

"  Indeed !     Can  he  shoot  ?  " 

"Wall,  neaow,  Mister  Captain,  he  kin  throw 
up  an  apple  and  shoot  the  seeds  aout  one  by  one 
as  it's  a-comin'  daown.  Whiles  as  fer  my  oldest 
brother,  Bill,  he  — " 

At  this,  Constance,  who  had  been  a  highly 
amused  witness  of  the  scene  and  the  colloquy, 
burst  out  laughing,  and  the  clear  sound  of  her 
mirth  turned  Mowatt's  attention  in  a  moment. 
He  recognized  the  girl  of  the  banquet  hall  and 

[98] 


COMEDY  AND  TRAGEDY 

the  midnight  escapade,  and  in  still  worse  temper 
than  before  he  muttered  between  his  teeth: 

"So  'tis  you,  my  fine  lady.  I  owe  you  still 
another  grudge,  beauty." 

Then  he  turned  to  vent  his  rage  upon  the  smil- 
ing countryman. 

'Who  are  you,  fellow?"  he  demanded  sav- 
agely, "and  where  are  you  from?" 

"Wall,  my  name's  Tobias  Gookin,  Mister 
Captain,  called  'Long  Toby'  fer  short,  and  I've 
come  from  Billerica  to  buy  a  gun.  P'raps  ye 
kin  tell  me  whar'  I'll  get  a  good  un  cheap.' 

"So  you've  come  to  buy  a  gun,  eh?"  sneered 
Mowatt. 

"I  hev." 

"Mayhap  you're  one  of  those  skulking  'Min- 
ute-men '  ? ' 

"Mebbe,"  returned  Tobv,  placidly. 

"Ah,  you  admit  you're  in  arms  against  your 
sovereign,  then?" 

"I  dunno  nothin'  'baout  sovereign,  Mister, 
—  but,  mebbe." 

Mowatt,  almost  foaming  at  the  mouth,  beck- 
oned to  a  couple  of  stalwart  sergeants. 

"Put  this  booby  under  arrest,"  he  ordered. 
"Take  him  to  the  main  guard  and  give  him  a 
dozen  lashes." 

The  soldiers  seized  "Long  Toby,"  and  pre- 
pared to  walk  him  away,  when  Constance,  her 
eyes  blazing  and  her  heart  beating  violently, 
rushed  forward  and  stood  squarely  before 
Mowatt  in  an  attitude  of  defiance. 

"You  brute!"  she  cried,  "release  that  man. 

F991 


He  has  done  no  wrong.  You  hectored  him. 
I  heard  it  all." 

"He's  the  King's  enemy.  Away  with  him, 
men,"  roared  Mowatt. 

"Lookee,  Jack,"  said  Charlton,  in  an  under- 
tone, "you'd  best  not  go  on  with  this." 

"Why  do  you  interfere?"  cried  the  captain. 

"  Because  he's  a  man,"  retorted  Constance  for 
Charlton,  whom  she  never  had  admired  so  much 
as  now.  "  Countermand  your  cruel  order  or  — 
or  I'll  straight  to  Lord  Percy!" 

"Ah,  will  you,  Mistress  Drake ?  So  the  wind 
lies  in  that  quarter,  eh  ?"  sneered  Mowatt,  with  a 
suggestive  leer  that  would  have  drawn  Charlton's 
sword  from  its  scabbard  had  not  Cuyler  warned 
him  from  so  grave  a  breach  of  discipline. 

"Do  as  I  command,  damn  you!"  shouted  the 
captain  to  the  irresolute  soldiers,  who  now  began 
to  move  away  with  their  prisoner. 

"Will  no  one  interfere?"  begged  the  girl, 
tears  of  distress  rushing  to  her  eyes.  Again 
Charlton's  blood  boiled,  and  he  was  on  the  point 
of  performing  some  rash  act,  when  "Long 
Toby's"  voice  arrested  his  attention. 

"Don't  ye  worrit  abaout  me,  ma'am,"  ex- 
claimed that  worthy.  "I'm  all  right." 

With  that  he  dexterously  twisted  his  arms 
from  the  hands  of  the  soldiers,  and  started  off 
on  a  lumbering  but  rapid  run  toward  freedom. 

"Make  ready!     Aim!"  cried  Mowatt. 

Three  soldiers  raised  their  pieces. 

"For  God's  sake,  men,"  exclaimed  Charlton, 

[100] 


COMEDY  AND  TRAGEDY 

dashing  between  the  girls  and  the  musket  bar- 
rels, "you'll  hit  the  women!" 

"Fire!" 

A  loud  blast  rang  out,  the  united  report  of 
three  guns.  But  not  a  hair  of  anyone  s  head 
was  injured,  for  by  some  strange  circumstance 
the  shots  all  went  high  into  the  air  and  dropped 
harmlessly  into  the  water  beyond.  And  when 
the  smoke  had  cleared  away,  "Long  Toby"  had 
disappeared  behind  a  neighboring  nillock. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  Mall  the  quartette, 
laughing  again  and  chatting  gaily  of  the  country- 
man's escapade  and  Mowatt's  discomfiture, 
came  close  to  a  hollow  square  of  soldiers.  This 
novel  disposition  of  troops  attracted  Constance's 
attention  at  once,  and  she  spoke  of  it  to  Charlton, 
who  tried  in  vain  to  divert  her  to  other  matters. 

"But  what  is  it  for,  Lieutenant  Charlton?" 
she  persisted. 

"They  are  —  are  punishing  a  deserter,  Mis- 
tress Drake,"  he  replied  gravely. 

"Oh,  then,  I  hear  some  officer  reproving 
him,"  she  went  on  brightly.  A  monotonous 
voice  rose  droningly  above  all  other  sounds,  and 
then  came  the  sad  roll  of  muffled  drums. 

"  I  rmisthave  a  peep,"  cried  Constance,  eagerly. 

"Really  I  would  not,  Mistress  Drake,"  urged 
Charlton,  his  face  showing  the  anxiety  he  felt. 

"And  why  not,  pray?"  she  returned,  impa- 
tiently. "  Everyone  appears  to  want  to  be  my 
dictator  to-day.  ' 

Another  somber,  tuneless  roll  of  the  drums 
was  followed  by  the  crackling  of  musket-shots, 

[101] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

and  six  blue  smoke-spirals  rose   and  hovered 
over  the  hollow  square. 

"What's  that?"  cried  Constance,  while  Bar- 
bara's plump  face  blanched.  "They  —  they 
can't  have  shot  him  ?" 

Charlton,  truthful  and  honest  gentleman  as 
he  was,  felt  that  prevarication  here  would  not  be 
set  down  against  him. 

"There  have  been  many  deserters  from  the 
army  of  late,"  he  said,  "  and  these  shots  were  to — 
to  frighten  the  soldiers." 

At  that  moment  the  square  of  troops  parted, 
and  before  the  awe-stricken  eyes  of  the  girls  a 
solitary  soldier  left  the  firing  line  and,  marching 
up  to  the  prostrate  figure  of  a  man  on  the  ground, 
placed  his  musket  to  its  head  and  pulled  the 
trigger. 

*Oh!"  cried  Constance,  dashing  her  hands 
to  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  fearful  sight.  Bar- 
bara's senses  reeled  and  she  fell  into  the  arms 
of  Ensign  Cuyler. 

Once  more  those  terrible,  unearthly  drum- 
beats, and  slowly  the  soldiers  filed  past  a  blood- 
stained human  clod  stretched  on  the  lid  of  a 
coffin  beside  an  open  grave. 

"Take  me  home,"  murmured  Constance, 
weakly.  "I  —  I  do  not  care  to  remain  longer 
abroad." 


[102] 


CHAPTER  XIII 
The  Birthday  Party 

MISTRESS  DRAKE  sat  in  the  high-backed 
Romney  pew  in  the  King's  Chapel  with 
little  mind  for  the  service  or  the  sermon  of  the 
Rev.  John  Troutbeck,  the  thin,  acid-voiced  as- 
sistant rector  of  the  church.  His  monotonous 
reading  of  prayer  called  before  her  another  mono- 
tone, out  in  the  pure  and  exquisite  air  of  the  day 
before,  and  the  terrible  scene  it  preceded.  Nor 
was  her  vision  of  that  pitiful  tragedy  less  clear 
by  reason  of  the  sight  of  the  officer  who  had  been 
in  command  of  the  firing  squad  sitting  in  another 
pew  not  far  away,  and  of  the  dark,  ill-favored 
face  of  Mowatt,  whose  name  she  did  not  yet 
know,  but  whom  she  had  come  to  associate  with 
evil. 

She  was  glad  when  she  found  herself  at  home 
once  more,  well  away  from  the  dark  chapel  and 
its  gloomy  thoughts.  Yet  even  here  she  was 
restless  and  distraite,  walking  idly  from  room 
to  room,  picking  up  a  book  here  or  a  trinket 
there,  and  tossing  both  away  with  a  total  disre- 
gard for  what  might  happen. 

Even  obtuse  old  Giles  Romney  noted  at  last 
that  something  was  disturbing  the  course  of 
Mistress  Constance's  thoughts.  He  laid  on  his 

[103] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

knee  the  great  volume  of  Bishop  Berkeley's  ser- 
mons he  was  reading,  and  peered  at  his  niece 
over  his  round,  iron-rimmed  spectacles. 

"  What  is't  ails  thee,  Connie  ?  "  he  asked  kindly. 
His  love  for  the  girl  was  proof  against  even  the 
vexation  of  interrupted  reading.  "Thou'rt  as 
fidgety  as  a  year-old  colt.  Mayhap  one  of  the 
good  oishop's  sermons  - 

"Nay,  sermon  me  no  sermon,  uncle,"  replied 
Constance.  "Have  I  not  dulness  enough,  as 
'tis  ?  A  pretty  pass  the  town  has  come  to,  with 
no  riding  nor  routs  nor  concerts  nor  —  walking, 
almost,  lor  us  maids.  Oh,  I'm  tired  of  it  all! 
Why  cannot  we  go  away  somewhere  —  to  Lon- 
don, uncle,  or  to  some  place  where  the  folk  wear 
something  but  long  faces  ?  Here  am  I  eighteen 
years  - 

"Nineteen,  e'enmost,  Connie.  To-morrow's 
your  birthday,  lass." 

"Why,  so  'tis.  I  had  all  but  forgotten.  .  .  . 
Well,  then,  to-morrow  shall  see  a  bit  of  gaiety  in 
this  stupid  old  house.  I  shall  celebrate!" 

The  old  man  pushed  his  spectacles  to  the  top 
of  his  ruddy  forehead  and  gazed  at  his  niece  in 
consternation. 

"Celebrate,    Constance?     And    wherefore?" 

"Because  I  will  it,  you  dear  old  uncle;  that 
is  the  *  wherefore.'  I  shall  have  a  party.  Let 
us  see  whom  I  shall  bid  come.  There's  Bab, 
of  course,  and  Mistress  Hancock  and— 

"Nay,  nay,  no  more  of  that  folly,  Constance. 
To-morrow  they  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  the 
shooting  of  the  mob,  and  the  town'll  be  in  mourn- 

[104] 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 

ing.  Besides,  there  are  to  be  services  at  the 
South  Church." 

"  What  is  that  to  us  ?     We  are  Tories." 

"Aye,  but  they  are  our  townsmen,  and  I'd  not 
like  to  be  wanting  in  respect." 

"Oh,  la  la!  Why,  then,  do  they  not  respect 
me?  To-day  is  their  anniversary.  Why  did 
they  not  use  it  instead  of  trying  to  spoil  my  birth- 
day with  their  tolling  bells  ana  their  blacK  faces  ? 
But  they  shan't  spoil  it!  I  will  have  my  party. 
May  I  not,  dear,  dear  uncle  ?" 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  Councillor's  knees, 
and  put  her  soft  cheek  against  his  rough  one 
with  a  caressing  pressure  that  made  but  a  weak- 
ling of  the  old  fellow.  Then  and  there  the  party 
was  assured. 

A  servant  was  sent  for  Barbara  Brandon, 
who  appeared  in  a  marvelously  short  time,  and 
who  was  deliciously  shocked  to  find  herself  part 
of  such  a  very  worldly  proceeding  as  arranging  a 
list  of  invitations  for  a  party.  As  for  Constance, 
she  sang  blithe  snatches  of  song  to  the  great 
scandal  of  certain  good  citizens  who  were  passing 
by,  full  of  the  sanctity  of  a  Puritan  Sabbath. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  frowning  and  biting 
the  feathered  tip  of  her  quill,  after  the  other 
messages  had  been  duly  disposed  of,  "now,  me- 
thinks,  your  brother  must  have  one  —  not  that 
he  would  come  - 

"He's  not  here,"  interrupted  Barbara. 

"But  as  a  mere  courtesy."  She  scribbled 
industriously  for  a  minute,  folded  the  sheet  care- 

[105] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

fully,  and  wrote  "John  Brandon"  on  its  back 
with  a  flourish. 

"There,  Bab,"  she  said,  "you  can  take  that 
home  to  him."  And  Barbara  thrust  it  in  her 
bosom,  and  that  night  laid  it  on  her  brother's 
table,  little  dreaming  of  the  power  the  bit  of  paper 
was  to  have  upon  all  their  lives. 

The  afternoon  of  the  party  found  a  brilliant 
assemblage  in  the  Romney  mansion,  with  old 
Giles  as  a  central  figure  dispensing  the  ample 
hospitality  of  the  house  with  pompous  delight, 
and  actually  boasting  of  his  great  idea  in  sug- 
gesting the  fete  to  his  niece. 

Constance,  bravely  arrayed,  as  befitted  a  fine 
lady  of  nineteen,  and  flushed  with  pleasure  and 
excitement,  flitted  from  room  to  room  and  from 
group  to  group  like  a  brilliant  butterfly.  Her 
friend  Barbara,  a  dainty  gray  moth,  looked  on 
sedately  and  said  little,  until  the  arrival  of  En- 
sign Cuyler,  when  she  found  her  tongue  and 
even  asked  the  handsome  officer  to  a  corner, 
where  they  sat  for  the  most  of  the  afternoon. 

Among  the  earliest  arrivals  had  been  the  Rev. 
John  Troutbeck,  of  the  King's  Chapel,  who  at 
once  hastened  to  Constance  with  his  high-keyed, 
twanging  congratulations.  His  watery  little 
eyes  looked  the  admiration  he  fain  would  have 


expressed. 
««nn i 


'  To  what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honor  of  your 
company,  sir?"  the  girl  asked  brusquely. 

Old  Komney  for  once  saved  the  situation. 
"  Egad,  Constance,"  he  interposed  with  a  chuckle 
at  her  displeasure;  "I  met  Master  Troutbeck 

[106] 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 

on  the  street,  and,  finding  that  your  invitation 
must  have  miscarried,  I  invited  him  myself." 

Constance  shot  an  angry  glance  at  her  uncle, 
which  in  no  wise  disconcerted  that  worthy,  for 
he  had  already  fortified  himself  with  some  of  his 
own  good  punch. 

"I  thank  you,  uncle,"  she  said,  tartly.  "I  — 
I  shall  not  soon  forget  it." 

So  thankful  was  she  when  she  was  rescued  from 
this  church  rook  by  the  arrival  of  Lieutenant 
Charlton,  that  she  greeted  the  officer  with  a  fervor 
that  caused  his  pulses  to  tingle. 

But  for  him  the  few  minutes  during  which  he 
had  her  to  himself  were  spoiled  by  the  noisy 
political  discussion  between  Rev.  Mr.  Trout- 
beck  and  Giles  Romney.  The  raucous  voice  of 
the  clergyman  dominated  everything,  and  made 
the  gathering  seem  for  the  moment  like  a  mass- 
meeting  instead  of  a  young  girl's  party. 

"This  is  the  foulest,  subtlest  and  most  ven- 
omous serpent  ever  issued  from  the  egg  of  sedi- 
tion," snarled  the  divine.  "  I  saw  the  small  seed 
when  it  was  implanted;  it  was  a  grain  of  mus- 
tard. It  has  become  a  great  tree. 

"I  suppose  he  means  the  Whig  cause,"  whis- 
pered Constance  to  Dr.  Gair,  who  had  at  the 
moment  trotted  in,  very  scant  of  breath,  to  pay 
his  compliments. 

The  jolly  surgeon  nodded  with  a  quick, 
springy  jerk  of  his  head  that  resembled  the  peck- 
ing oi  a  bird  at  its  food. 

'The  worst  of  the  Tory  side,"  said  the  girl 
thoughtfully,  " is  that  it  —  *  She  did  not  finish; 

[107] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

even  the  fortuitous  guest  in  her  home  must  be 
immune  from  criticism.  But  she  threw  a  glance 
at  the  grandiloquent  Troutbeck  that  belied  her 
intent. 

"That  it  attracts  such  men  as  that?"  queried 
Charlton.  "I  quite  agree  with  you,  Mistress 
Drake.  Our  cause  should  have  enlisted  the 
Warrens  and  this  Adams  —  they're  true,  at  any 
rate.  Apropos,  I  saw  you  not  at  the  Soutn 
Church  this  morning." 

"Nay,  I  would  not  an'  I  could,  and  I  could 
not  an'  I  would.  'Twere  no  fit  place,  sure,  for 
me,  a  fiery  little  Tory;  but  furthermore,  I  had 
business  to  perform.  You  were  there,  of  course. 
Tell  me  what  went  forward." 

"Twas  a  monstrous  great  crowd,  Mistress 
Drake,  and  well  behaved,  too.  In  the  pulpit 
was  your  town  clerk,  William  Cooper,  as  mod- 
erator, and  with  him  sat  Mr.  Samuel  Adams. 

"Dr.  Warren,  as  you  know,  was  the  orator, 
and  was  late.  Meanwhile,  the  townspeople 
had  crowded  in  early,  and  when  we  officers  came 
there  were  no  seats  for  us.  Seeing  which  Mr. 
Adams  bade  the  citizens  in  front  to  vacate  their 
places,  and  give  'em  to  us  that  we  might  the  bet- 
ter hear  —  which  was  a  mighty  civil  thing  in 
him,  I  say.  But  even  then  some  of  us  had  to 
sit  on  the  pulpit  stairs. 

"  At  last  came  their  orator,  through  a  window 
back  of  the  pulpit.  Egad,  he  had  a  long  toga 
like  that  of  the  jolly  old  Romans  I  used  to  study 
about  at  Eton,  ana  in  his  right  hand  he  carried 
a  fine  kerchief,  though  for  what  I  could  not 

[108] 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 

imagine.  His  left  he  continually  thrust  into  his 
breeches  pocket  as  he  spoke." 

"And    how    spake    ne?"    asked    Constance. 

"Excellent  well,"  returned  Charlton,  "and 
for  most  part  wisely.  But  trouble  almost  came, 
nevertheless,  for  when  he  said  something  about 
the  '  bloody  massacre,*  one  of  the  officers  on  the 
stairs  cried  'Fie,  fie!" 

"'Twas  Jack  Mo  watt,"  interposed  My  Lord 
Rawdon,  who  had  slipped  in  unannounced,  and 
joined  the  group. 

"Very  like,"  replied  Charlton.  "Well,  upon 
that  up  jumps  Mr.  Adams  in  a  rage,  and  cries: 
'Who  dares  say  that?*  Then  seeing  Jack  he 
shouts  in  that  thunder  voice  of  his :  '  I  will  mark 
you,  sir!'* 

' '  And  I  will  mark  you,  sir,'  returned  Mowatt, 
in  a  devil  of  a  pet.  'I  shall  be  ready  to  meet 
your  friends.' 

"  Mr.  Adams,  cool  enough  now,  said  he  would 
go  to  General  Gage,  whereupon  Jack  told  him 
that  Gage  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  there 
the  matter  dropped." 

"And  is  that  all,  pray?"  asked  Constance. 

"Almost,"  replied  Charlton.  "Except  that 
just  before  the  oration  was  ended  that  crack- 
brained  Aylesford,  who  was  sitting  just  under 
the  pulpit,  held  up  under  Warren's  face  his  hand 
full  of  pistol  balls." 

"Ah,"  said  the  girl,  her  lips  parted,  "  and  then 
what?" 

"Why,  only  that  the  doctor  smiled,  quietly 
dropped  his  handkerchief  over  the  bullets  and 

[109] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

went  on  with  his  address.  Egad,  it  was  the 
coolest,  cleverest  thing  I  have  ever  seen  done. 
Indeed,  I  hold  it  up  to  the  credit  of  the  meeting 
in  general  that  it  kept  its  temper  so  well." 

But  not  well  for  the  King's  cause,"  said  the 
snarling,  rasping  voice  of  Rev.  Mr.  Troutbeck. 

"How  mean  you?"  asked  old  Romney. 

"There  were  three  hundred  soldiers  in  the 
meeting?" 

"Yet." 

"Well,  I  have  it  on  excellent  authority,  that 
had  aught  been  said  against  the  King,  an  officer 
stood  ready  to  throw  an  egg  in  Warren's  face, 
which  was  to  be  a  signal  to  draw  swords  and 
kill  Hancock,  Warren,  Adams,  and  many  more." 

*"Tis  a  lie,  an  atrocious  lie!"  cried  the  clear- 
ringing  tones  of  Constance.  She,  first  of  all, 
had  roused  from  the  stupor  that  had  fallen  upon 
the  company  as  the  appalling  significance  of 
Troutbeck's  statement  made  itself  felt.  "Tis 
cowardly;  I'll  not  believe  it!" 

Mr.  Troutbeck's  sallow  face  grew  into  a  flesh- 
tint,  and  the  corners  of  his  straight  mouth 
twitched  nervously.  He  would  have  ventured  a 
reply  to  this  extraordinary  young  woman,  had 
he  not  been  saved  the  trouble  by  the  sound  of 
another  voice  behind  the  group;  a  fine,  manly, 
musical  voice;  a  voice  that  had  fascinated 
Dorothy  Hancock,  she  had  told  Constance,  as 
she  heard  it  in  the  dawn  giving  orders  to  the 
troops  —  the  voice  of  Lord  Percy. 

"Spoken  bravely  and  truly,  Mistress  Drake. 
No  more  do  I  believe  it."  After  a  courtly 

[110] 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 

bow  to  Constance,  he  addressed  himself  to  the 
clergyman. 

"Idle  chatter  of  the  camp,  Mr.  Troutbeck," 
he  said  sternly. 

Constance's  heart  warmed  toward  the  officer 
for  his  prompt  suppression  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Troutbeck,  who  took  himself  and  his  slander  into 
retirement.  She  could  have  embraced  her  sup- 
porter heartily,  but  contented  herself  with  a  cour- 
tesy and  a  winning  welcome  to  her  little  festival. 

"Speaking  of  absent  company,"  said  Giles 
Romney  from  a  window,  '  here  comes  Sam 
Adams  himself." 

There  was  a  general  rush  for  points  of  ob- 
servation, for  there  was  magic  in  the  powerful 
name,  even  to  Tories. 

"Why,  I  see  no  one,"  exclaimed  Cuyler,  in 
bewilderment.  "What  mean  you,  Councillor 
Romney?" 

"Aha,  my  friend,"  replied  the  old  man,  highly 
pleased  at  his  own  perspicacity,  "  there  are  shouts 
from  the  Common.  And  see  that  dog?  'Tis 
Adams'  Queue." 

"A  beautiful  Newfoundland,"  explained  Con- 
stance to  Lord  Percy,  "and  a  monstrous  know- 
ing beast  beside." 

'Like  master,  like  dog,  eh?"  queried  Charl- 
ton. 

"  Aye,  a  rebel  to  his  tail  tip,"  returned  Romney. 
"  Egad,  sir,  he  has  such  an  antipathy  to  a  British 
uniform  that  he's  been  cut  and  hacked  all  over 
by  soldiers  who've  been  compelled  to  beat  off 
his  attacks.  See  how  he  barks  at  every  cheer." 

[ill] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

The  shouting  and  the  tumult  grew  clearer 
and  louder,  and  presently  the  vanguard  of  the 
crowd  turned  into  Winter  Street,  the  huge  black 
dog  capering  about  the  leaders  with  every  evi- 
dence of  delight. 

"What  is  the  confusion  now?"  asked  Con- 
stance with  a  pout.  Truly  her  party  had  been 
the  sport  of  untoward  circumstances  from  the 
beginning,  and  she  was  thoroughly  vexed  with 
the  Patriots  for  this  new  interruption. 

"Be  not  alarmed,"  said  Percy,  not  quite  un- 
derstanding her.  "The  townspeople  go  to  the 
Liberty  Tree  to  hear  a  harangue  by  Adams." 

"Here's  'Sam,  the  Malster,'  now,"  cried 
Romney. 

" Who?"  asked  Cuyler. 

"Why,  Adams.  'Twas  his  trade  before  he 
failed  in't  and  became  clerk  o'  the  General  Court. 
That's  Sam  i'  the  centre." 

'That  white-haired  old  man  in  the  dark  red 
cloak?"  queried  the  ensign  disappointedly.  It 
was  not  at  all  the  sort  of  fire-eating  rebel  he 
had  pictured. 

"And  not  so  old,  neither,"  returned  Giles. 
"A  little  over  fifty.  He  was  gray  at  forty." 

A  great  cheer,  sensibly  louder  because  it  was 
before  the  dwelling  of  a  Tory,  marked  the  pass- 
ing of  the  procession.  Charlton  turned  to  the 
prettier  scene  within,  and  especially  to  the  be- 
witching divinity  of  the  place,  with  a  smile. 

"The  people  appear  to  make  a  hero  of  this 
Adams,  Mistress  Drake,"  he  said. 

"Pray  heaven,  they  make  him  not  a  martyr 

[lit] 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 

as  well,"  was  the  earnest  reply.  Then  catching 
the  lieutenant's  look  of  inquiry:  "I  know  well 
his  daughter  and  his  son." 

"His  son?"  asked  Lord  Percy,  catching  only 
at  the  last  word. 

"Yes,  my  lord,  he  studies  medicine  with  Dr. 
Warren." 

"H'm,"  observed  the  Earl  drily,  "and  other 
things  beside,  I'll  warrant." 

"I  know  not  that,"  said  Constance,  "but  I 
do  know  that  their  home  life  is  marvelous  happy, 
though  they're  poor  as  church  mice.  Mr. 
Adams  loves  his  children,  and  you  should  see 
them  all  frolicking  together  and  near  them  sing- 
ing hymns  and  glees  at  the  harpsichord.  And — 
if  you  will  believe  it  —  Mr.  Adams  says  grace  at 
each  meal,  and  has  Bible-reading  every  night." 

"  Why  should  I  not  believe  it  ?"  queried  Percy, 
with  an  amused  air. 

"Because  you  officers  all  think  him  such  a 
bad  man,"  the  girl  replied.  "  But  one  who  loves 
his  children  and  fears  God  cannot  be  altogether 
bad,  can  he?" 

"No,"  replied  the  Earl  gravely,  "he  cannot. 
Nor  do  I  think  him  so.  Were  I  an  American  — " 

If  the  Rev.  Mr.  Troutbeck  believed  that  he 
were  about  to  get  some  new  morsel  for  scandal- 
ous comment  about  Lord  Percy  —  whom  al- 
ready the  ultra-Tories  accused  of  lukewarm 
adherence  to  their  cause  —  he  was  without  his 
reckoning,  for  the  sentence  died  on  the  Earl's 
lips  as  he  caught  sight  of  a  tall,  stalwart,  grizzled 

[113] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

man  with  a  keen,  hawk-like  face  that  well  be- 
fitted his  military  bearing. 

Old  Romney  bustled  forth  to  welcome  the 
visitor,  smiling  with  pleasure.  Having  wrung 
his  hand  vigorously,  he  turned  to  the  company 
with  a  flourish. 

"Gentlemen,  this  is  Brigadier  Timothy  Rug- 
gles,"  he  cried.  "The  best  soldier  in  the  col- 
onies, and  a  Loyalist  to  his  finger  tips,"  he  added 
in  a  lower  tone  to  Lord  Percy,  whom  he  there- 
upon presented. 

The  old  campaigner  bowed,  and  enclosed 
Percy's  slender  hand  in  his  enormous  paw. 

"  Let  others  subscribe  to  the  first  part  of  friend 
Romney's  introduction,  as  they  like,"  he  said. 
"I  will  gladly  plead  guilty  to  the  second  count. 
I  cannot  see  men  arming  against  my  King  with- 
out indignation.  Sir,  I  am  just  in  from  Worces- 
ter, and  should  I  tell  you  of  what  I  have  seen  on 
the  way,  I  fear  you'd  not  believe  me." 

As  he  continued  to  speak  in  low  tones  to  the 
Earl,  Constance  in  a  few  words  told  Charlton 
something  of  the  brigadier. 

"He's  accounted  the  finest  military  man  in 
all  America,"  she  whispered.  "In  the  French 
wars  he  was  celebrated  for  his  bravery  and 
audacity,  which  they  say  stopped  at  nothing. 
Now  he  is  a  great  lawyer  and  a  keen  wit.  We 
are  fortunate,  sure,  to  nave  him  on  our  side." 

"I  came  along  by  the  *  Liberty  Tree,'  at  the 
market,"  he  was  saying,  "a  monstrous  curious 
affair,  decked  out  with  streamers,  placards,  and 
a  liberty  cap  on  a  pole.  There  Sam  Adams  was 

[114] 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PARTY 

haranguing  a  crowd  that  every  now  and  then 
shouted  fit  to  split  their  weazands.  I  caught 
but  a  word  or  two,  but  God's  truth,  they  were 
treason  of  the  rankest  sort." 

"They  dare  not  fight,  however,"  rasped  Rev. 
Mr.  Troutbeck,  who  had  emerged  from  his 
obscurity,  fortified  by  sundry  glasses  of  Giles 
Romney's  prime  punch.  "They  dare  not,  even 
if  they  Know  how." 

Brigadier  Ruggles'  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  his 
mouth  grew  stern.  Not  to  be  insulted  thus  was 
he,  a  veteran  of  half  a  hundred  battles  and  skir- 
mishes. He  knew  his  countrymen,  if  British 
officers  and  parsons  did  not. 

"Fight,  sirrah?"  he  roared,  frightening  nearly 
out  of  his  remaining  wits  the  half-drunken  Trout- 
beck,  "I've  seen  'em  fight  on  many  a  field.  As 
the  King's  foes  I  despise  them;  in  battle  they  are 
to  be  honored  —  and  —  feared." 

Constance  was  not  sorry  to  find  that  after  a 
little  more  of  politics,  punch,  and  food  her  guests 
began  to  take  their  leave.  Never  had  there 
been  so  strange  a  party  in  all  Boston,  she  was  re- 
solved, with  its  interruptions  and  discussions 
and  very  unfeminine  characteristics  generally. 
Nor  was  she  any  the  more  appeased  by  the  sight 
of  pretty,  simple  Barbara  hanging  on  the  words 
of  Ensign  Cuyler  with  an  adoration  that  boded 
ill  for  me  little  Whig.  She  would  lecture  her 
friend  roundly  for  her  indiscretion,  she  deter- 
mined. 

Lieutenant  Charlton  was  the  last  to  pay  his 
parting  devoirs  to  Constance. 

[115] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

'You  must  come  and  see  us  soon  again,"  said 
the  girl,  cordially.  She  sincerely  liked  his  hon- 
esty, his  courtesy,  and  his  manliness,  and  for 
once  there  was  no  sting  in  her  graciousness. 

"I  shall  be  most  pleased  to  do  so,  Mistress 
Drake,  and  Councillor  Romney,"  replied  the 
happy  officer,  "if  we  do  not  have  war." 

'If  we  do  not  have  war ! "  snorted  the  old  Tory, 
fresh  from  the  fuller  recitals  of  Brigadier  Rug- 
gles.  "Damme,  sir,  it  is  war!" 


[116] 


CHAPTER  XIV 
For  a  Sister's  Sake 

MARCH  belied  not  its  ancient  reputation, 
and  ere  it  had  run  its  fickle  course  it  gave 
Bostonians  a  swift  transition  from  balmy  air  to 
raw  sea-winds,  and  from  ambitious  grass-spears 
to  sleet  and  storm.  And  as  the  blooming  crocuses 
disappeared  under  their  white  mantle,  so  did 
the  old-time  blitheness  of  Constance  Drake 
vanish  in  the  presence  of  universal  dulness  and 
the  sense  of  impending  disaster.  The  girl  had 
had  no  taste  for  going  abroad,  and  none  of  the 
officers  who  had  the  entree  to  her  uncle's  house 
had  called,  with  the  exception  of  Lieutenant 
Charlton,  who  came  on  the  Sunday  following 
her  party,  to  say  that  he,  with  a  few  others,  had 
been  detailed  to  make  a  trip  of  reconnaissance  to 
Worcester  and  the  regions  between. 

This  morning  the  sun  had  deigned  to  shed  its 
beams  on  the  just  and  unjust  of  Boston  once 
more,  and  timid,  rebuffed  Spring  seemed  on 
the  point  of  venturing  forth  again.  But  the 
golden  light  that  poured  into  the  prim  Colonial 
parlor  of  the  Romneys  found  no  answering  glow 
in  the  heart  of  Constance.  She  went  about  her 
pretty  duties  of  dusting  and  setting  all  things 
right  with  none  of  her  accustomed  snatches  of 

[117] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

song;  even  Dickon,  her  bird,  which  she  fed  and 
watered  aimlessly,  provoked  her  by  his  apparent 
intent  to  burst  his  tiny  throat  with  melody. 

"How  can  you,  Dickon,  how  can  you?"  she 
cried,  shaking  her  turkey-wing  duster  at  the  poor 
little  culprit,  nearly  frightening  life  from  his 
small  body.  "Dost  not  know  you're  not  to 
sing  when  /  cannot?  Fie  upon  thee,  for  a 
shameless  fellow." 

Dickon   chirped   feebly   once   or   twice    and 

fave  his  attention  to  the  lump  of  sugar  stuck 
etween  the  bars  of  his  cage. 

"Heigho,"  sighed  Constance,  turning  to  her 
tasks  again,  "the  world's  upside  down  and  I 
know  not  whether  I  am  above  or  below.  Would 
that  Lieutenant  Charlton  might  return  or  —  or 
John  Brandon,  even.  He  might  have  interest- 
ing news." 

The  approach  of  Giles  Romney,  red  and  puff- 
ing with  some  new  cause  of  anger,  surprised  the 
girl  away  from  further  meditations  on  men. 
The  old  fellow  seldom  returned  to  his  home  thus 
early  in  the  day,  for  although  his  business  as  an 
importer  had  vanished  long  since,  he  still  made 
a  practice  of  going  to  his  warehouse. 

"Well-a-day,  Uncle  Giles,"  she  cried,  "and 
what  brings  you  home  at  this  early  hour?  Is 
there,  perchance,  some  new  alarm  in  the  town  ?" 

"Nay,  Connie,"  grumbled  the  old  man,  slid- 
ing carefully  into  a  chair  with  special  deference 
to  his  gouty  toe,  which  had  been  showing  an 
especially  unspringlike  disposition  of  late,  "  nay, 
but  my  clerk,  Gideon  White,  has  this  very  day 

[118] 


FOR  A  SISTER'S  SAKE 

packed  up  bag  and  baggage  and  betaken  him- 
self away." 

"  White  ?  "  laughed  Constance.  "  That  sober- 
sides quit  his  living?  Why,  you  pay  him  for 
doing  nothing." 

"Aye,  but  ne  says  he  has  a  nobler  duty  than 
trade,  and  is  going  to  join  his  two  brothers  at 
Lexington." 

"What  is  he  to  do  there?" 

"Egad,  he  says  he  is  to  work  for  'the  cause.' 
Turn  rebel,  that  means.  The  whole  town's 
gone  stark,  staring  mad.  What  with  their  meet- 
ings and  hand-bills  and  secret  drillings,  the  peo- 
ple are  possessed  of  the  devil.  They  — " 

"Tell  me  the  news  if  there  be  any,"  inter- 
rupted the  impatient  Constance. 

'News?  There's  hogsheads  of  it.  Every 
street  corner  tattler's  full  of  it.  The  soldiers 
tarred  and  feathered  a  Billerica  man  -  -  Thomas 
Ditson,  they  said  his  name  was  —  because  he 
tempted  a  soldier  to  desert." 

"Shameful!"  cried  Connie. 

"So  I  say,"  returned  the  obtuse  old  Coun- 
cillor. "The  King  has  trouble  enough  to  keep 
his  soldiers  as  it  is.  But  the  fools  of  officers, 
and  Gage,  too,  are  just  as  bad.  There's  a  rumor 
that  the  order  will  be  given  to  seize  the  powder 
and  cannon  at  Concord." 

"That  would  mean  war,  wouldn't  it?"  al- 
most whispered  the  girl. 

"War?  No,"  snorted  Romney,  "but  an- 
other massacre,  probably.  If  the  King  could 
but  know,  there  would  be  other  measures,  and 

[119] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

other  men.  The  army  was  sent  here  to  keep 
peace,  not  to  provoke  the  people!" 

Constance  gazed  at  her  uncle  in  mute  aston- 
ishment. Never  had  the  old  Tory  spoken  in 
such  strain  as  this  before,  never  nad  he  even 
breathed  criticism  of  the  army. 

The  old  man,  too,  felt  that  he  was  in  an  un- 
usual mood,  and  hastened  to  qualify  it. 

"Oh,  the  people  are  just  as  tad,'  he  declared, 
"  but  the  soldiers,  being  under  discipline,  should 
know  better.  What  in  the  name  of  heaven  is 
the  use  of  sending  squads  of  troops  out  into  the 
country  to  tip  over  stone  walls  ? " 

Thus  having  relieved  his  mind,  Giles  Romney 
hobbled  off  into  his  special  sanctum  and  was 
seen  no  more  till  dinner-time. 

Constance  would  have  had  a  lonely  forenoon 
of  it,  had  not  Barbara  Brandon  come  tripping 
in  a  little  later,  as  rosy  as  ever,  but  with  a  more 
serious  face  than  was  her  wont. 

"I  came  to  return  your  novel,  Connie,"  she 
said  gravely.  "  I  shouldn't  have  kept  it  so  long, 
but  Hannah  Adams  sought  the  loan  of  the  book, 
and  I  knew  you  wouldn't  mind  —  and  she's 
just  returned  it." 

Constance  took  the  copy  of  "Pamela"  and 
tossed  it  on  a  table.  She  was  in  little  humor  to 
respect  even  the  great  Mr.  Richardson  to-day. 

"So  ho,  does  prim  Mistress  Hannah  Adams 
read  novels?"  she  asked.  "Well,  how  like 
you  it?" 

"  Qh,  much,  but  —  but  I  couldn't  finish  it  — 

[120] 


FOR  A  SISTER'S  SAKE 

it  made  me  cry  so,"  whereupon  the  little  girl  fell 
to  sobbing  in  real  earnest. 

"Why,  child,  child!"  exclaimed  Constance 
in  real  distress.  "  Crying  over  a  trumpery  novel ! " 
She  took  Barbara's  plump  hands  from  her  pretty 
face  and  looked  searchingly  into  her  eyes.  "  No, 
no;  it's  for  no  book.  .  .  .  Mayhap  you  and  Ensign 
Cuyler  —  you  have  o^uarreled?" 

'  Nay,"  protested  Barbara  through  her  tears, 
"  indeed,  you  mistake.  We're  —  we're  very 
good  friends  —  even  if  he  does  —  wear  —  a  — 
a  red  coat." 

"So  that's  a  fault,  now?  Well,  what  is  the 
trouble,  Barbara?" 

"J-John—  " 

"  John  ?     Your  brother  ?     What  of  him  ?  " 

"I  haven't  seen  him  for  two  weeks,"  sobbed 
the  girl,  "  and  he  was  never  away  from  home  so 
long  before." 

Constance  knitted  her  brows.  "For  two 
weeks?  Let's  see.  Was  it  so  long  ago  that  I 
saw  him  at  Colonel  Hancock's?" 

It  was  Barbara's  turn  to  look  with  quick 
scrutiny  at  the  face  of  her  friend. 

'You  saw  him?"  she  asked  in  surprise. 

'Yes,  at  Colonel  Hancock's,  the  day  before 
we  went  to  the  military  show." 

"I  had  forgotten.  Well,  that  very  morning 
-  after  I  came  here  —  he  went  from  home, 
leaving  me  a  few  strangely  worded  lines  —  and 
not  a  word  have  I  heard  since." 

"Did  he  say  naught  of  his  plans  in  the  writ- 

•  «s » 

ing? 

[1*1] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"No.  But  father  says  he  went  away  on  ser- 
vice for  the  Provincial  Congress  and  the  Com- 
mittee of  Safety." 

Constance's  lip  curled  ever  so  slightly. 

"Oh,  he's  safe  enough,  I'll  warrant,"  she 
said  lightly.  Then  as  Barbara's  trembling  lips 
gave  sign  of  a  new  burst  of  tears,  she  added  more 
kindly:  "His  powerful  new  friends  will  see  that 
no  harm  comes  to  him." 

But  the  sister  was  not  satisfied. 

"Why,  then,  does  he  send  no  word?  John 
was  ne'er  so  thoughtless.  Besides,  Mr.  Hewes 
had  it  from  a  countryman  —  Tobias  Gookin  — 
the  same  that  flouted  the  captain  at  the  target 
practice  —  that  two  men  from  town  were  killed 
or  badly  injured  by  a  powder  explosion  near 
Menotomy.' 

"Nay,  come  now,"  returned  Constance,  at 
full  cry  in  her  role  of  comforter,  "there  are  thou- 
sands of  other  men  there,  Barbara  dear." 

"Mayhap  there  be,  Connie,"  said  the  discon- 
solate Barbara,  "and  I'd  not  think  on't  so,  but, 
oh,  last  night  I  had  such  a  fearsome  dream ! " 

"A  dream?     Tell  it  me,  dear." 

"  I  thought  that  John  had  been  taken  prisoner 
by  the  officers,  and,  for  what  I  knew  not,  was 
condemned  to  die.  I  saw  him  tied  across  a  can- 
non's mouth.  I  saw  an  officer  stand  beside  the 
cannon  with  a  lighted  match  in  his  hand.  Oh, 
Constance,  it  was  —  it  was  —  Ensign  Cuyler!" 

Constance  was  thrilled,  spite  of  herself,  yet 
to  still  the  fresh  storm  of  sobbing  that  shook 
Barbara's  body,  she  said  steadily: 

[1*21 


FOR  A  SISTER'S  SAKE 

"There,  there,  Barbara,  dreams  are  but  the 
worries  of  the  day  carried  on  into  the  night." 

"If  I  only  knew  that  he  was  not  killed!"  cried 
the  girl,  beginning  to  dry  her  eyes. 

"Would  I  could  help  you." 

"But  you  can." 

"Indeed?     How?" 

"You  know  Mistress  Hancock  well." 

"Yes." 

*"*  And  Mr.  Hewes  says  her  husband  is  in  daily 
converse  with  messengers  from  all  the  country 
round." 

"I  see.  You'd  have  me  seek  the  truth  from 
Dorothy.  That  I  will,  my  dear,  if  it  be  any 
comfort  to  you.  We'll  be  off  at  once." 

On  the  way  across  the  Common,  Constance 
asked  her  inmost  consciousness  if  any  desire  of 
her  own  to  hear  from  the  recreant  John  Brandon 
had  quickened  her  impulse  to  help  her  little 
friend  s  disquiet.  Then  something  indignantly 
denied  the  existence  or  possibility  of  any  such 
motive.  As  the  brother  of  Barbara  Brandon 
he  was  worth  an  inquiry,  but  as  no  other. 

Her  vigorous  pounding  of  the  resplendent 
Hancock  door-knocker  brought  forth  the  negro 
servant  Agnes,  clad  in  all  her  glory. 

"Is  Mistress  Hancock  at  home?"  asked  Con- 
stance. 

"No,  Missy  Drake,  she  ain't,  I'se  sorry  to  say. 
Missy  Hancock  and  Missy  Warren,  dey  bofe 
done  gone  to  Howard's  Meetin'  House." 

"Why,  this  is  not  the  Lord's  Day,"  returned 
Constance,  with  surprise. 

[123] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Bress  de  Lord,  no,  missy,  but  'tis  a  fas'  day 
app'inted  by  de  Provincel  Corngris.  Spec'  dev 
mus'  t'ink  we'se  livin'  too  high.  Ho,  no,  ho!  ' 

"What  shall  we  do ?"  askea  Barbara  blankly. 

"Do?  Why,  we'll  go  to  'Howard's  Meetin' 
House,'  too,  and  get  our  news  there." 

"But  'tis  a  Patriot  service,  and  you  — 

"And  I  am  a  Tory?  Fie,  Barbara  Brandon! 
Doth  not  your  own  prosy  minister  say  that 
'while  the  light  holds  out  to  burn,  the  vilest  sin- 
ner may  return '  ?  I  shall  neither  harm 
meeting,  nor  the  meeting  me." 


[1MJ 


CHAPTER  XV 
The  Voice  of  a  Patriot 

^  I  ^HE  two  girls  found  the  vicinity  of  the  West 
JL  Church,  where  Parson  Simeon  Howard 
held  forth  at  some  length  twice  each  Sunday,  a 
scene  of  unusual  activity.  A  steady  stream  of 
serious-minded  people  was  rising  up  over  the 
wooden  steps  of  the  meeting-house,  while  in  the 
street  and  just  before  the  building  waited  many 
men  to  see  all  that  was  on  foot  until  word  should 
come  that  the  service  was  to  begin.  Among 
them  was  the  omnipresent  Hewes,  who  boasted 
that  he  had  never  missed  a  patriotic  meeting  in 
his  life,  and  his  chief  cronies,  Thomas,  Perkins, 
and  Johonnot. 

"I  tell  ye,  friends,"  remarked  little  Hewes, 
always  the  oracle,  "the  people  need  none  of  this 
fasting,  humiliation,  and  prayer." 

"Right,"  growled  Perkins,  "we  fast  enough 
every  day,  say  I,  with  food  worth  its  weight  in 
gold,  and  little  to  be  had  at  that;  we've  lived  on 
humiliation  for  a  year,  whiles  as  for  prayer  — 
well,  the  Lord  helps  them  who  help  themselves, 
they  say." 

"What  should  be  to-day,"  continued  Hewes, 
"is  an  indignation  meeting  with  a  red-hot  ad- 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

dress  from  Sam  Adams.  That  would  stir  the 
people  up  to  doing  something,  I  warrant  ye." 

"13ut  I  saw  Master  Adams  enter  the  church 
not  ten  minutes  ago,"  volunteered  Johonnot. 

"Aye,  but  he's  not  to  speak,  I  hear.  More's 
the  pity,  for  I  passed  his  house  in  Purchase 
Street  after  midnight  this  day,  and  there  was  a 
bright  light  in  his  study.  'Aha,'  says  I  to  my- 
self, 'Sam  is  hard  at  work  against  the  Tories.' 
Oh,  what  a  speech  that  would  'a'  been,  if  it'd  only 
'a'  been  one!" 

"Master  Adams  was  at  the  office  of  the  Ga- 
zette last  evening,"  put  in  Edes,  the  printer,  who 
had  joined  the  group  by  natural  gravitation, 
"and  he  wrote  something  in  such  a  prodigious 
heat  that  he  spoilt  four  prime  goose-quills. 
Warren  and  Revere  dropped  in,  and  when  they 
had  looked  over  his  article,  they  all  agreed  not 
to  publish  it  just  yet.  God  knows  when  it  will 
appear,  for  unless  I  miss  my  guess  we'll  not  be 
able  to  print  the  Gazette  very  much  longer." 

Constance  and  Barbara  reached  the  meeting- 
house just  in  time  to  pluck  Dorothy  Hancock  s 
sleeve  as  the  lady  was  about  to  enter.  She 
looked  at  Giles  Romney's  niece  with  quizzical 
amusement. 

"Good-morrow,  Mistress  Drake,  and  you, 
Mistress  Brandon,"  she  said  ceremoniously. 
And  then,  in  another  tone:  "Art  fasting,  Connie  ? 
Surely  your  uncle's  larder  must  still  be  well  sup- 
plied. Or  have  you  come  to  place  the  efforts 
of  our  poor  Master  Howard  against  those  of 
your  eloquent  Master  Troutbeck?" 

[126] 


THE  VOICE  OF  A  PATRIOT 

Constance  made  a  grimace  of  disgust  at  the 
mention  of  the  name. 

"For  neither  of  those  reasons,  Mistress  Han- 
cock," she  replied.  "Nay,  I  am  still  a  Tory;  I 
hastened  after  you  in  behalf  of  Barbara  here, 
who  would  have  news  of  her  absent  brother 
John." 

Dorothy  Hancock's  smile  lighted  up  what  was 
in  repose  a  plain  face.  She  looked  at  the  girl 
keenly. 

"Why,  then,  Constance,"  she  said,  "methinks 
I  am  ever  to  be  your  intended  fount  of  informa- 
tion. First  to  relieve  your  uncle,  and  now  for 
—  Barbara.  But,  indeed,  I  cannot  tell  you 
aught  of  John  Brandon.  After  the  meeting  I 
will  make  inquiries  from  a  source  that  I  am  sure 
will  help  you  —  and  Barbara.  Mayhap  you 
will  join  Mistress  Mercy  Warren  and  myself  in 
the  hearing  of  the  service?" 

Constance  looked  dubious  for  a  moment. 

"Do,  Connie,"  pleaded  Barbara.  "I  must 
stay  by  Mistress  Hancock  for  the  news  she  prom- 
ises. Besides,  you  said  but  a  little  while  ago 
that  the  meeting  could  not  harm  you." 

"Nor  shall  it,"  replied  the  little  Tory  proudly. 
"  We  will  bear  Dorothy  company.  .  .  .  What  ails 
thee,  child?"  She  felt  Barbara,  whose  arm 
was  locked  in  her  own,  give  a  little  start. 

"He  — is  there.     Look." 

Constance's  eyes  followed  the  index  of  the 
plump,  pink  finger,  and  saw  Ensign  Cuyler 
standing  with  other  officers  and  a  squad  of  men 
in  front  of  a  gay  marquee  that  had  been  erected 

[127] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

behind  the  church.  Wondering  what  the  in- 
tent of  such  an  unusual  proceeding  might  be, 
she  dragged  her  friend  from  out  the  charmed 
range  of  vision  and  into  the  precincts  of  Parson 
Howard. 

The  bare,  white  interior,  relieved  only  by  the 
splendid,  towering  pulpit  of  mahogany,  was 
filled  to  its  utmost  by  a  silent,  grave,  intense 
company  of  men  and  women,  gathered  to  cry 
unto  God  for  the  forgiveness  of  their  own  sins 
and  for  the  lightening  of  the  burden  that  had 
fallen  upon  them.  The  grim  silence  of  the 
place,  the  absence  of  the  poetic  accessories  of 
her  own  faith,  affected  Constance  strangely. 
As  individuals  she  knew  many  of  the  Patriots 
well  and  regarded  them  quite  in  a  matter-of-fact 
way;  here  for  the  first  time  she  became  part  of  a 
concrete  massing  of  the  powerful  elements  that 
made  for  liberty,  and  she  began  to  wonder 
whether,  after  all,  love  for  one's  living,  breathing, 
vital  country  were  not  of  more  importance  than 
devotion  to  an  abstract  royalty  she  might  never 
behold. 

When  the  Rev.  Simeon  Howard  rose  for  the 
"first  prayer,"  he  had  no  more  earnest  listener 
than  this  niece  of  Giles  Romney,  the  Tory. 
It  was  a  simple,  eloquent  calling  for  the  blessing 
of  God  upon  the  people,  and  Constance  could 
only  think  of  Troutbeck  and  his  nasal  whining 
over  the  prayer-book  in  the  King's  Chapel. 
Surely  Patriot  preachers  were  better,  at  all  events. 

But  the  "Amen"  of  Master  Howard's  sup- 
plication had  not  come  before  a  rolling  of  drums 

[128] 


THE  VOICE  OF  A  PATRIOT 

was  set  up  outside  and  many  fifes  shrilled  out 
'Yankee  Doodle"  with  very  suspicious  vigor. 
The  clergyman's  voice  rose  in  triumph  over  the 
din  and  he  brought  the  prayer  to  an  end. 

Still,  with  unceasing  iteration,  the  derisive 
tune  came  from  the  marquee,  and  the  brum- 
brum-brum  of  the  drums  mocked  at  the  sanctity 
of  time  and  place.  A  stir  and  a  murmur  ran 
through  the  gathering.  Black  frowns  and  whis- 
pers of  "shame!"  testified  to  the  anger  of  the 
people.  There  was  no  longer  a  doubt  that  the 
insult  was  deliberate,  prearranged. 

Constance's  cheeks  burned  with  the  disgrace 
of  it.  To  think  that  her  own  partisans  —  per- 
haps her  own  friends  —  would  stoop  to  a  thing 
like  this! 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Howard  began  to  read  the 
Scriptures.  He  raised  his  voice  to  what  seemed 
to  him  almost  an  unseemly  pitch,  but  still  the 
squeaking  derision  of  the  fifes  and  the  sardonic 
rattling  of  the  drums  as  "Yankee  Doodle" 
always  ;< Yankee  Doodle"  -came  from  the 
British  without. 

The  minister's  eyes  blazed  with  righteous  in- 
dignation. He  was  a  man  of  God,  but  not  to 
be  spit  upon  because  of  that.  He  closed  the 
ponderous  Bible  with  something  very  like  a  bang, 
and  stood  erect  with  arms  folded,  the  very  em- 
bodiment of  outraged  dignity  and  priestly  wrath. 

"Friends,"  he  cried, in  a  voice  that  rang  above 
and  through  the  clatter,  as  an  organ  tone  can 
conquer  many  violins,  "the  emissaries  of  Satan 
encompass  us  round  about;  but  though  they 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

rage  furiously  together,  their  labor  is  vain.  The 
peace  and  propriety  of  a  religious  service  they 
can  destroy,  because  'twere  unfit,  in  that,  to  at- 
tempt to  overmatch  their  noise.  But,  thanks  be 
to  Almighty  God,  there  is  one  voice  here  they 
cannot  drown.  They  have  brought  politics  to 
the  threshold  of  our  church.  Very  well,  then, 
we  take  their  gift,  even  though  they  be  enemies, 
and  bid  it  enter  here.  We  will  hear  discussed 
the  issues  of  this  dark  hour.  I  call  upon  Samuel 
Adams  to  come  into  this  pulpit  and  address  the 
people." 

Spite  of  their  habit  of  repression,  spite  of  the 
fact  that  they  were  in  a  church,  the  good  citizens 
assembled  gave  a  ringing  cheer,  a  cry  that  told 
of  love  and  admiration  and  faith  for  the  sturdily 
built  man  in  dark  red  who  walked,  with  quiet 
dignity,  down  one  of  the  aisles  and  ascended  the 
winding  stairs  of  the  great  rostrum.  As  he 
turned  and  faced  the  people  his  usually  mild 
blue  eyes  took  on  the  color  of  steel,  and  his 
squarely  molded  features  grew  stern.  With  a 
quick,  rather  tremulous  gesture,  characteristic 
of  him,  he  swept  his  abundant  gray  hair  back 
from  his  broad  and  noble  forehead,  and  gazed 
from  side  to  side  across  the  faces  in  the  pews. 

He  began  to  speak  slowly  and  rather  calmly. 
The  soldiers  outside,  astonished  at  the  cheers 
within  the  church,  had  ceased  their  display  of 
'Yankee  Doodle"  for  a  time,  and  some  of  the 
officers  had  come  inside  the  vestibule  to  inves- 
tigate the  unusual  occurrence.  Then  the  news 
spread  that  Sam  Adams  was  making  a  speech, 

[130] 


THE  VOICE  OF  A  PATRIOT 

and  more  came  into  the  church  to  hear  this 
"man  of  the  town-meeting." 

As  he  went  on,  Adams'  slight  tremulousness 
of  voice  left  him,  and  his  tones,  sonorous  in  vol- 
ume and  splendid  in  cadence,  filled  the  edifice 
and  floated  out  to  citizens  and  soldiery. 

Constance  Drake  listened  as  she  had  never 
listened  to  man  before.  What  had  she  been 
doing  all  these  years,  she  asked  herself,  that  she 
had  missed  eloquence  like  this  ? 

As  Adams  neared  his  peroration,  the  drums 
and  fifes  began  again  their  "Yankee  Doodle," 
and  thenceforth  struggled  against  the  power  of 
oratory  to  the  end.  But  the  thunderous  voice 
of  the  man,  as  he  poured  forth  all  the  fiery  in- 
dignation there  was  in  him,  made  the  frantic 
exertions  of  the  little  band  as  nothing.  Against 
the  squeaking  treble  obligato,  the  rich  and  pon- 
derous bass  was  the  solo,  heard  through  and 
above  and  beyond  all  other  sounds. 

"Merciful  God,"  was  the  tremendous  finale, 
"inspire  thy  people  with  wisdom  and  fortitude 
and  direct  them  to  gracious  ends.  In  this  ex- 
treme distress,  when  the  plan  of  slavery  seems 
nearly  completed,  oh,  save  our  country  from  im- 
pending ruin !  Let  not  the  iron  hand  of  tyranny 
ravish  our  laws  and  seize  the  badge  of  freedom, 
nor  avowed  corruption  and  the  murderous  rage 
of  lawless  power  be  ever  seen  on  the  sacred 
throne  of  justice!" 

For  an  instant,  after  the  last  word  had  rolled 
from  his  throat,  Adams  stood  like  a  statue,  his 
right  arm  raised,  and  his  hand  pointed  to  that 

[131] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

heaven  whose  aid  lie  had  just  invoked.  Not  a 
sound  marred  the  tremendous  solemnity  of  the 
scene.  The  British  drums  had  been  stilled; 
over  the  people  was  a  hush  too  sacred  and  power- 
ful for  applause.  Only,  as  the  compelling  arm 
slowly  lowered  itself,  and  the  stalwart  figure  re- 
laxed, a  deep,  all-pervasive  sigh  came  from 
many  hearts. 

Constance  Drake  found  herself  thrilling  with 
something  she  could  scarcely  name.  Half  re- 
bellious, she  left  the  church  with  her  friends, 
silent  and  preoccupied.  As  if  fearful  of  her- 
self, she  told  her  own  heart  many  times  that  she 
was  a  Tory  and  must  so  remain;  yet  no  longer 
did  she  wonder  at  the  audacity  and  steadfastness 
of  the  Patriots,  no  longer  dare  to  think  of  them 
as  a  senseless  rabble  led  by  unscrupulous  mas- 
ters. She,  too,  had  come  under  the  spell  of 
Samuel  Adams. 


[18*3 


N 


CHAPTER  XVI 
A  Scrap  of  Paper 

OT  far  from  the  church  Constance  and  her 
friend  espied  Dorothy  Hancock,  who,  ac- 
companied by  a  pale,  slender  youth,  something 
over  his  majority,  had  waited  for  the  girls,  mind- 
ful of  her  promise. 

"  Here  is  one,"  cried  the  fair  wife  of  the  Patriot 
exquisite,  "who  can  give  news  of  the  absent 
brother." 

Barbara,  all  smiles,  turned  toward  the  boy. 

"Can  you,  then,  Master  Adams,  tell  me  aught 
of  my  brother?  He  is  not  —  not  injured?" 

"Not  unless  something  has  befallen  him  since 
morning,"  announced  the  young  Samuel  Adams. 
"He  was  with  my  father  for  a  full  hour,  and 
when  we  started  hither  for  the  meeting  he  was 
talking  for  a  moment  at  a  window  with  my  sister 
Hannah,  who  is  a  trifle  indisposed  and  aid  not 
go  abroad  to-day." 

"Oh,  I  thank  you  a  thousand  times,"  said 
Barbara,  sweetly,  "  and  you,  too,  Mistress  Han- 
cock. Good-morrow  to  you  both." 

"Now  we  shall  see  him  —  shall  see  him,"  she 
continued  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy  of  joy.  "Oh, 
Constance,  are  we  not  glad  ?" 

"Very,"  replied  Constance  absently,  as  they 

[133] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

walked  along  toward  the  fine  square  just  above 
the  church.  She  had  hardly  heard  the  question ; 
in  her  mind  were  the  echoes  of  Master  Adams' 
words,  "  talking  for  a  moment  at  a  window  with 
my  sister." 

In  another  moment  she  would  have  laughed 
at  the  absurdity  of  such  a  foolish  refrain,  had 
not  the  appearance  of  Samuel  Adams,  accom- 
panied by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Howard  and  others  of 
the  citizenry,  stilled  all  her  levity.  He  and  his 
friends  were  walking  slowly  and  were  in  earnest 
discussion.  Again  the  girl  was  impressed  by 
the  stalwart  figure,  the  fine  face  and  the  noble 
bearing,  triumphant  over  the  commonplace 
shabbiness  of  his  dress.  She  remembered  with 
something  like  self-pity  that  she  had  once  looked 
upon  attire  as  a  very  essential  part  of  a  man. 
Now,  she  thought  of  John  Hancock,  with  his 
perfection  of  outward  art,  and  more  than  ever 
did  Samuel  Adams  seem  to  her  to  be  one  above 
his  fellows. 

Now  the  sound  of  a  quick,  firm  step  behind 
them,  together  with  a  certain  military  jingling, 
made  Constance  turn  her  head  inquiringly. 
Barbara,  schooled  in  the  demure  rules  of  the 
propriety  of  the  age,  looked  straight  ahead. 
But  her  friend  knew  well  enough,  from  the  look 
on  her  sweet  face,  that  Mistress  Brandon  had 
divined  with  subtle  feminine  prescience  that 
Ensign  Cuyler  was  dashing  along  after  them. 

"Barbara,"  she  said,  sharply,  grasping  the 
girl's  wrist,  "you'll  not  speak  to  him." 

[134] 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER 

"To  whom?"  was  the  feeble  pretence.  It 
was  wholly  wasted. 

"Remember  he  was  among  those  —  those 
profaners  of  God's  worship." 

'Yes,  Constance,  I  know,  but — ' 

"You  will  speak  to  him?" 

"  What  —  wnat  can  I  do,  if  he  speaks  to  me  ? 
And  tell  me,  Connie,"  she  went  on  rather  tartly, 
as  if  some  new  thought  roused  her  from  her 
supine  gentleness,  "  why  is't  that  you  speak  so  ? 
The  wearers  of  the  King's  uniform  are  always 
welcome  at  your  house." 

"  Ah,  but  to-day  it  is  different,  after  —  and 
besides,  you  are  not  a  Tory." 

"Nay,  Constance,"  was  the  simple  answer, 
"I  am  but  a  woman." 

As  if  to  stifle  the  realization  that  the  little 
Puritan  was  fast  learning  to  think  and  act  for 
herself,  Constance  laughed,  but  there  was  no 
tune  in  the  mirth. 

"As  you  will,  then,"   she  replied. 

Nevertheless,  her  warning  had  some  effect, 
for  when  the  Ensign  overtook  and  saluted  the 
girls,  there  was  something  in  the  atmosphere 
that  chilled  him.  He  knew  the  cause  well 
enough;  indeed,  the  whole  town  was  by  this 
time  ringing  with  the  news  of  the  soldiers'  af- 
front to  the  Fast  Day  meeting. 

'You'll  believe  me,"  he  began  earnestly, 
"  that  I  had  no  share  in  that  —  that  miserable 
business?" 

"You  —  you  were  there,"  replied  Barbara 
stiffly. 

[135] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"  As  a  chance  spectator  —  no  more,  I  swear  it. 
And  what's  more,  I  made  protest  against  the 
outrage." 

'  'Tis  well  you  did,  sir,"  exclaimed  Constance, 
with  a  wicked  little  smile  and  a  significant  glance 
at  Barbara,  "  or  I  fancy  your  reception  in  a  cer- 
tain quarter  would  not  be  any  too  cordial.  But 
we  must  hasten  on." 

"Then  with  your  gracious  permission,"  re- 
torted the  soldier,  "I'll  be  your  body  guard  so 
far  as  Cornhill." 

And  then,  notwithstanding  their  differences 
in  politics,  it  happened  that  me  red-coated  royal 
trooper  chose  to  escort  in  particular  the  gray- 
clad  Patriot  maiden,  while  the  brilliantly  dressed 
Tory  girl  gradually  fell  behind.  And  so  it  was 
until  Cuyler's  way  separated  from  theirs,  and 
the  two  linked  arms  once  more. 

"Well,  Barbara,"  said  Constance,  after  they 
had  proceeded  in  silence  for  some  minutes, 
"have  you  quite  forgotten  the  particular  hero 
of  our  day  —  your  brother?" 

"Nay,  how  can  you  ?"  replied  the  girl,  blush- 
ing guiltily.  "Indeed,  I  must  hurry  home,  for 
I'm  yearning  for  a  sight  of  him.  Will  you  not 
come  too?"  she  asked  as  Constance  stopped  at 
the  corner  of  Winter  Street. 

Constance  shook  her  head  very  energetically. 

"I  thought  you,  also,  would  be  glad  to  see 
him,"  was  the  rather  plaintive  appeal. 

"  I  shall,  indeed,  —  when  he  comes  to  see  me." 

Barbara  would  have  pressed  the  inquiry  fur- 
[136] 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER 

ther,  had  not  there  suddenly  appeared  from  be- 
hind a  tree  a  gigantic  figure  whose  looming  pro- 
portions, so  mysteriously  brought  into  view, 
struck  both  girls  with  momentary  astonishment. 

"Well,  well,"  cried  Constance,  the  first  to 
recover  her  self-possession,  "'tis  our  acquaint- 
ance of  the  target  shooting."  Then  she  laughed 
merrily  at  the  recollection.  'You  ran  excellent 
well,  sir." 

It  was,  indeed,  "Long  Toby"  Gookin,  a  little 
less  rustic  in  dress  and  a  little  more  impressive 
in  bearing  than  when  he  had  disappeared  from 
view  behind  the  hill  on  the  Common.  He  still 
chewed  his  wisp  of  straw,  however,  as  if  extract- 
ing wisdom  and  cunning  from  the  little  yellow 
stalk.  He  grinned  responsively. 

"Needs  must  run,"  he  said,  slowly,  "when 
the  devil  drives.  But  I'll  run  arter  'em,  yit, 
mebbe." 

"No  need  to  run,  I  fancy,"  returned  Con- 
stance, "just  shoot." 

"  Mebbe  I  could  do  that,  too,  ef  - 

The  tall  countryman  did  not  finish,  but  the 
ouick  gleam  of  a  new  intelligence  in  his  eye,  and 
the  sudden  straightening  of  his  huge  form  into 

commanding  bulk,  told  the  story  weU  enough 

Nor  was  the  hint  lost  on  Constance.  In  another 
moment,  however,  his  old  drawl  returned. 

"Please,  neaow,  which  of  ye  might  be  Miss 
Barbara  Brandon?" 

"Well,  I  might  be,"  replied  Mistress  Drake, 
"but  she  is,"  pointing  to  her  friend. 

"Then  I've  a  message  for  ye,  miss." 

[137] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"From  John?     Pray  give  it  to  me  quickly!" 

"I've  naught  to  give  —  save  from  my  tongue. 
Your  brother  sent  me  to  your  house.  They 
said  you'd  soon  be  home,  but  I  kinder  guessed 
I'd  find  ve." 

"My  brother  sent  you?  Then  he  is  not  at 
home?" 

"  Guess  not.  Mebbe  he's  a  dozen  miles  yonder 
by  now,  if  I'm  any  judge  o'  horseflesh." 

"Why,  what  mean  you?"  asked  Constance, 
with  a  sharp  rapidity  of  which  she  was  the  next 
moment  heartily  ashamed. 

"Wall,  on'y  thet  Master  Brandon  come  to 
taown  in  a  dreffle  rush  on  urgent  business,  an' 
hed  to  git  right  aout  agin.  Thet's  all." 

"But  he  had  time  to  talk  with  Hannah 
Adams,"  exclaimed  Barbara,  with  quivering 
lip. 

"I  thought  of  that,"  said  her  friend,  drily. 

"Neaow  thet  my  errand's  done,"  resumed 
"Long  Toby,"  addressing  Constance,  "may  I 
speak  a  word  wi'  ye?" 

She  nodded. 

"Wall,  I'm  not  sich  a  fool  as  not  to  know  you 
saved  my  life  t'other  day.  .  .  .  Oh,  yes,  ye  did. 
'T  ain't  wuth  much  neaow,  except  to  me,  mebbe. 
Some  day  it  may  be  wuth  more.  Then,  or 
neaow,  it  belongs  to  you,  miss." 

Having  thus  delivered  himself  with  extreme 
gravity  and  perfect  honesty,  the  big  fellow  gave 
a  queer  jerky  bow,  and  betook  himself  off  with 
Brobdignagian  strides. 

Constance's  eyes  followed  him  thoughtfully. 

[138] 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER 

"His  gallantry  is  of  novel  stripe,"  she  said, 
"but  pemaps  'tis  as  real  as  most,  Barbara.  .  .  . 
Why,  what  ails  the  child?" 

The  accumulated  troubles  and  disappoint- 
ments of  the  day  were  too  much  for  the  little 
girl,  and  she  began  to  cry. 

"  There's  such  goings  on  at  our  home.  Father's 
so  mysterious  and  sometimes  works  all  night, 
and  John  didn't  come  home,"  she  whimpered. 

"Come,  come,  Bab,"  said  Constance,  stoutly, 
"he  couldn't  see  you,  it  seems.  Where's  your 
patriotism  now,  if  you  can't  spare  your  brother 
from  sight?  And  you  a  Daughter  of  Liberty, 
forsooth.  .  .  .  By  the  by,  when  do  I  understand 
they  meet  again?" 

'  T-to-morrow,"  replied  Barbara,  stifling  her 
sobs. 

"If  it  will  cheer  you,  I'll  go  with  you." 

"You?" 

"Why  not?  I  am  welcome,  it  seems,  at  a 
fast  meeting.  Why  not  at  a  Patriot  merrymak- 
ing, as  you  say  this  is  to  be  ?" 

'We-ell,"  said  Barbara,  rather  dubiously,  "if 
you  really'd  like  to  go,  I'd  surely  like  you  to." 

"I  would,"  was  the  cheerful  reply.  "Now 
go  home  and  rest  a  bit.  Call  for  me  to-morrow. 
You'll  find  I  can  be  very,  very  well  behaved  at  a 
Whig  festival." 

In  her  own  room,  Constance  found  herself 
again  thinking  of  the  church  services  and  Samuel 
Adams'  turning  of  the  disturbance  to  such  bril- 
liant account.  Though  she  did  not  know  it,  it 
was  his  mastery  over  just  such  chance  events 

[139] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

that  made  him  the  great  leader  of  men  that  he 
was.  He  never  waited  for  opportunity  to  knock 
at  his  door,  but  followed  the  goddess  in  all  her 
wandering  ways,  and  seized  her  hand  again 
and  again. 

Constance  at  last  idly  picked  up  the  copy  of 
"Pamela"  that  Barbara  had  so  recently  re- 
turned, and  turned  the  leaves  over  without  much 
thought  of  the  story.  Soon,  from  one  of  Mr. 
Richardson's  most  tearful  chapters,  there  flut- 
tered to  the  floor  a  piece  of  paper.  Some  writ- 
ing upon  it  caused  the  girl  to  stoop  and  pick  it  up. 

'  Ah,  Barbara's  book-mark,"  she  said.  "  Love 
verses,  I'll  be  bound,  with  'glove'  and  'love'  and 
'sword'  and  'word'  for  rhymes.  .  .  .  Nay,  'tis 
only  a  scrap  —  a  note  from  her  brother.  'Tis, 
then,  no  harm  to  read  it.  .  .  ." 

..."  do,  for  well  I  know  she  whom  I  love  is  a  goddess. 
That  I  am  unworthy  I  am  only  too  conscious,  but  if  devotion 
count  for  aught  I  may  yet  become  so.  It  may  be  weeks  e'er  I 
see  you  again,  but  your  face  and  your  love,  dear,  will  be  ever 
bright  within  my  heart. 

"  With  dearest  love, 

"JOHN." 

The  girl  stared  at  the  signature,  as  if  fascinated 
by  the  careful,  scholarly  flourish  of  the  letters. 
Had  the  sinuous,  writhing  tail  of  the  "  J"  been 
that  of  a  snake  there  in  the  room,  she  could 
scarcely  have  been  more  transfixed  with  aston- 
ishment. She  drew  the  paper  nearer  to  her 
eyes  as  if  she  might  see  in  the  texture  some  solu- 
tion of  the  mystery. 

"That's  not  to  a  sister,"  she  mused.     "And 

[1401 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER 

'tis  surely  his  hand.  Besides,  Cuyler's  name's 
not  John.  'Tis  Thomas.  .  .  .  Barbara  had 
loaned  the  book.  .  .  .  To  Hannah  Adams.  .  .  . 
'Tis  to  her  John  Brandon  wrote,  'She  whom  I 
love  is  a  goddess '  -  goddess,  indeed ! .  .  .  *  Your 
face  and  your  love,  dear'  -Faugh!" 

And  Mistress  Drake  threw  poor  "Pamela" 
in  one  direction  and  the  bit  of  paper  in  another, 
and  went  and  stood  by  her  window  looking  out 
at  her  bare  rose  garden  writh  a  choking  in  her 
throat  that  was  too  dry  for  tears. 

"What  a  fool  I  am,"  she  told  herself  at  last. 
"  He's  naught  to  me,  or  —  or  I  to  him.  The 
Patriot's  daughter  is  his  natural  mate.  .  .  .  Poor 
book,"  bending  to  take  "Pamela"  from  the 
floor,  "you  have  done  no  harm.  And  you,  you 
tell-tale  piece  of  paper,  I'll  put  you  back  be- 
tween the  leaves.  'Twill  be  good  discipline  to 
read  you  when  conceit  gets  the  upper  hand." 

That  afternoon,  when  Charlton,  just  back 
from  his  dangerous  scouting,  called  at  the  Rom- 
ney  house,  he  found  the  bright  divinity  of  the 
place  in  amazingly  gracious  and  brilliant  mood. 
And  if  he  had  rosy  hopes  of  something  dear  and 
sweet  to  come,  surely  no  one  could  blame  him. 
With  great  reluctance  he  tore  himself  away  to 
duty  just  before  supper,  to  which  he  had  been 
cordially  invited. 

The  meal  was,  as  usual  nowadays,  full  of  the 
discussion  of  the  times.  Constance  related  her 
experience  at  the  morning  services,  and  so  vividly 
did  she  picture  the  scene  that  her  uncle  was 
deeply  impressed. 

[Hi] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"By  what  you  say  of  the  meeting,  Connie," 
he  said  gravely,  "I'm  afraid  this  soldier  folly 
will  be  a  great  help  to  the  Patriots." 

"Patriots!"  cried  the  girl,  flaring  into  anger 
most  unreasonably,  and,  to  Giles  Romney,  most 
inexplicably,  "I'm  sick  of  the  word.  Rebels, 
fools,  humougs!  And  the  women  Patriots  are 
the  worst  of  'em  all.  .  .  .  I'm  off  to  bed.  Good- 
night." 

Thus  freeing  her  mind,  Mistress  Constance 
stormed  out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door  be- 
hind her  with  unsparing  strength. 

Uncle  Giles  pushed  up  his  spectacles,  and 
tweaked  his  nose  meditatively. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  the  girl?" 
he  asked  his  wife. 

"Well,  Giles,"  that  excellent  woman  replied, 
"  I  take  no  sides  in  these  terrible  conditions,  but 
as  for  Constance,  if  you  want  my  opinion,  'tis 
this:  The  girl's  in  love  with  a  rebel." 

"  A  rebel  ?  Nonsense,  my  dear.  Why,  didn't 
she  just  now  say  - 

"Giles,  you  never  did  understand  women," 
was  the  gentle  interruption. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
The  Spinners  at  Tea 

THE  house  of  the  Rev.  John  Moorehead, 
minister  of  the  church  in  Long  Lane, 
was  the  scene  of  very  unusual  activity  the  fol- 
lowing afternoon.  Indeed,  it  may  fairly  be 
doubted  if  such  an  all-pervading  air  of  femininity 
had  ever  before  hovered  over  its  large  rooms  and 
simple  furnishings  as  upon  this  particular  occa- 
sion. Good  Dorcas  Greene,  the  clergyman's 
faithful  housekeeper,  had  been  thrown  into 
agonies  of  anxiety  about  it,  and  only  hoped  that 
the  affair  would  go  off  well  —  but  she  was  by  no 
means  sure.  She  would  do  her  part,  and  the 
young  ladies  must  do  theirs.  But  if  the  affair 
passed  without  accident,  or  even  scandal,  she 
would  thank  her  stars,  indeed  she  would. 

All  this  she  expounded  at  some  length  to  Rev. 
Mr.  Moorehead,  as  breakfast  was  being  eaten. 
The  minister  listened,  but  only  smiled.  A  visi- 
tation such  as  he  was  about  to  receive  had  no 
terrors  for  him ;  in  fact,  he  was  rather  looking  for- 
ward to  it,  for  he  realized  that  a  bevy  of  comely 
young  women  was  as  fair  a  sight  as  any  that 
might  offer  in  those  troubled  days. 

The  event  that  had  so  worried  poor  old  Dor- 
cas in  anticipation  was  a  meeting  at  the  house  of 

U431 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

some  fifty  of  the  "  Daughters  of  Liberty,"  come 
together  to  sing  their  patriotic  anthems,  to  spin 
for  the  poor,  and  incidentally  to  revile  tea  - 
which  every  one  of  them  adored.  It  was  thor- 
oughly understood  beforehand  that  none  but 
American  products  were  to  be  eaten  or  drunk 
or  even  worn,  which  cut  off  many  luxuries  of 
person  and  of  appetite.  But  the  young  women 
were  every  bit  as  stalwart  in  their  patriotism  as 
their  brothers,  and  they  gathered  at  the  Moore- 
head  house,  clad  in  the  sober  cloths  of  home 
manufacture,  as  happily  as  if  going  to  a  splendid 
rout  at  Colonel  Hancock's.  Thus  did  con- 
science make  heroines  of  them  all. 

And  now  behold  in  Parson  Moorehead's  large 
front  parlor,  doubled  in  length  by  the  opening 
of  folding  doors  between  it  and  the  room  behind, 
two  long  rows  of  spinning  wheels,  fifty  in  all, 
with  their  great  wooden  wneels  and  their  queer, 
sprawling  caricatures  of  legs.  And  standing  at 
each  a  damsel  dressed  in  gray  and  white  waited 
for  the  signal  to  begin.  Half-way  down  the  line 
and  suspended  from  the  ceiling  was  a  white  ban- 
ner on  which  had  been  painted  by  Mr.  Moore- 
head's  pretty  niece,  Abigail,  the  words,  "Love, 
Fraternity,  and  Application,"  the  motto  of  the 
society. 

And  now  behold,  too,  Constance  Drake  gaz- 
ing upon  this  attractive  picture  with  varying 
emotions.  She  had  come  as  she  had  promised 
Barbara,  to  whom  had  been  allotted  the  duty  of 
getting  ready  the  refreshments.  Curiosity,  en- 
nui, bravado  —  a  dozen  different  motives  had 

[144] 


THE  SPINNERS  AT  TEA 

brought  her  along.  And  here  she  was  in  Tory 
finery,  a  bird  of  paradise  among  doves,  for  even 
Dorothy  Hancock  had  made  her  dress  conform 
to  the  rules  of  the  "Daughters  of  Liberty,"  al- 
though she  was  not  among  the  spinners.  For 
once  Constance  felt  apologetic  for  her  London 
fabrics. 

"  Young  ladies,  you  may  begin,"  said  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Moorehead,  clapping  his  thin  hands  to- 
gether and  smiling  paternally  over  his  brood. 
Then  arose  on  the  air  a  soft  whirring  like  the 
sound  of  the  flight  of  myriads  of  tiny  birds. 
Half  a  hundred  right  arms,  neatly  bared  to  the 
elbow,  followed  the  circle  of  the  wooden  wheels, 
and  as  many  left  arms  swayed  backward  and 
forward  with  that  infinite  grace  of  the  olden 
time,  as  the  soft,  filmy  cylinders  of  wool  tight- 
ened and  twisted  and  shrunk  until  the  perfect 
yarn  was  wound  upon  the  spindles.  All  this 
with  merry  laughter  and  chatter  and  bits  of  song, 
until  the  old  house  reechoed  to  the  cheerful  sound 
even  to  the  ridge-pole. 

Constance  viewed  this  Whiggish  activity  with 
amusement  as  soon  as  she  subdued  her  leeling 
of  aloofness,  which  was  but  temporary.  She 
was  an  excellent  spinner  herself,  and  under  the 
incentive  of  the  moment  she  might  have  seized 
Barbara's  inactive  wheel  and  scandalized  her 
Tory  friends  forever,  had  not  the  voice  of  her 
little  friend  called  to  her  from  the  dining-room. 
There  she  found  Mistress  Brandon  flitting  about 
nervously,  fearful  that  her  housewifery  might 
find  itself  lacking  before  so  many  young  experts. 

[145] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Oh,  Connie,"  she  cried,  from  her  dainty 
confusion  of  linen  and  plates  and  crystal,  "if 
only  you  will  go  to  the  kitchen  and  look  at  the 
cake  that's  in  the  oven,  you  will  help  me  so  much. 
Old  Dorcas  is  a  good  soul,  but  she  can  never, 
never  tell  when  a  cake  is  done.  And,  while 
there,  you  might  make  the  brew  —  Dorcas  will 
tell  you  where  the  tea  —  that  is,  the  raspberry 
leaf  —  is.  Wilt  do  it,  dear,  even  if  you  are  — 
are- 

"  Never  mind  what  I  am,  child,"  replied  Con- 
stance cheerily.  "I'm  your  bounden  servant 
for  to-day,  Bab  —  yours  and  the  others.  I'll 
go  at  once." 

"Oh,  I  thank  you,"  said  Barbara  gratefully, 
stooping  to  pick  up  a  spoon  that  haa  dropped 
from  its  tray.  As  she  did  so,  a  gold-encircled 
miniature  slipped  from  its  nest  in  her  soft,  warm 
bosom  and  fell  upon  the  carpet.  Nor  was  the 
girl's  hand  swift  enough  to  rescue  it,  ere  Con- 
stance's sharp  eyes  had  discovered  the  mischief. 

"Oho,  Mistress  Bab,  a  miniature,"  she  cried. 
"  And  of  whom,  pray  ?  " 

Barbara  blushed  and  fidgeted  with  the  trin- 
ket, but  made  no  reply. 

"  Come,  come,  girl,  no  secrets  from  me,  an'  it 
please  you.  .  .  .  But  mayhap  the  face  is  ugly, 
and  you  like  it  to  be  unseen." 

''Tis  not,"  said  Barbara,  flaring  into  indig- 
nation, "  he  is  - 

"He?"  with  affected  surprise. 

''Yes,  he,  Constance  dear,  since  you  will  know. 
See!" 

[146] 


THE  SPINNERS  AT  TEA 

She  held  the  painted  bit  of  porcelain  proudly 
up  to  Constance's  inspection.  And  surely  no 
one  had  ever  called  Ensign  Cuyler  ugly. 

"Barbara  Brandon,"  said  her  mentor,  with 
what  severity  she  could  assume,  "you  are  in 
love.  Can  you  deny  it  ?" 

Barbara  shook  her  head. 

"And  with  a  redcoat,  one  of  the  enemies  of 
you  and  yours." 

"Ye-es,"  replied  the  girl  dolefully,  giving 
sign  of  breaking  down  under  her  burden,  "  that's 
j-just  the  —  trouble!" 

And  such  a  pathetic,  sweetly  appealing  little 
figure  she  was,  confessing  her  affection  with  a 
pride  that  was  also  akin  to  tears,  that  Constance 
could  do  nothing  but  clasp  her  warmly  to  her 
heart  and  keep  her  there  for  a  moment. 

"There,  there,  child,"  she  said  caressingly, 
"be  not  troubled.  You've  done  no  wrong,  and 
-  so  they  say  —  there's  no  politics  in  love." 

"Is  there  not?"  asked  Barbara,  gazing  into 
her  friend's  eyes.  "Is  it  really  so?" 

"Why  —  yes  —  I  —  but,  mercy,  I  must  to 
the  kitchen,  or  your  famous  cake  will  be  cinders 
in  the  oven." 

No  Dorcas  being  visible,  Constance,  after 
rescuing  the  cake  in  the  nick  of  time,  set  about 
searching  for  the  "tea."  Into  the  buttery  she 
went,  peering  this  way  and  that  into  cupboards 
and  over  shelves,  but  no  caddy  could  she  dis- 
cover. Then  she  became  filled  with  that  de- 
termination that  comes  to  us  all  when  the  imp 
of  the  perverse  seems  to  be  mocking  us. 

[147] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Now,  I  will  find  it,"  she  exclaimed,  "if  I 
have  to  ransack  every  corner  in  the  house.'* 

Saying  which,  she  made  a  step-ladder  of  a 
chair  and  the  pastry-bench  and  climbed  along 
the  upper  shelves,  groping  for  what  might  give 
tangible  evidence  01  being  a  tea-caddy. 

victory!  At  last  her  fingers  clasped  a  small 
tin  box,  inside  of  which  something  light  rattled 
as  she  shook  it.  Hastily  descending  to  the  floor, 
she  opened  the  lid  and  looked  in.  Strange- 
looking  raspberry  leaves,  and  a  strange,  though 
familiar  odor  arising  from  them.  Strange,  be- 
cause the  Rev.  Mr.  Moorehead  was  a  very  un- 
compromising Patriot,  and  this  — 

Constance  sniffed  at  the  herb  decisively. 

"  'Tis  Bohea,"  she  cried,  with  a  burst  of  laugh- 
ter. "Well,  of  all  the— " 

Stopping  suddenly  at  the  sound  of  footsteps, 
she  saw  before  her  old  Dorcas  Greene,  the  pic- 
ture of  shame-faced  distress. 

"Mercy  on  us,  Mistress  Drake,"  exclaimed 
the  perturbed  housekeeper,  "what  have  you 
there?" 

"A  most  excellent  China  tea,  I  should  say." 

"Aye,  but  - 

"  I  found  it  just  now  on  the  top  shelf.  There's 
no  dust  on  the  cover,  so  it's  been  used  recently. 
Can  it  be  that  Mr.  Moorehead  - 

"Nay,"  cried  the  horrified  old  woman,  con- 
science rising  strong  within  her,  ' '  'twas  I  — • 
'twas  I  who  hid  it  there  long  ago,  when  Mr. 
Moorehead  gave  orders  that  no  more  tea  be 
drunk  in  the  nouse." 

[148] 


THE  SPINNERS  AT  TEA 

"But  it  has  been  drunk." 

"Only  by  me,  and  but  a  little  now  and  then 
for  my  stomach's  sake.  Oh,  Mistress  Drake, 
you'll  not  betray  me.  I'm  a  poor  old  creetur, 
of  weak  will  and  wicked  heart.  Oh,  oh,  oh!" 

Foreseeing  tears,  of  which  she  thought  she  had 
had  a  surfeit  of  late,  Constance  hastened  to  re- 
assure the  old  woman,  who  thereupon  took 
courage  and  hurried  away  and  back,  fetching 
the  right  and  proper  brew. 

Constance  lifted  the  caddy  to  her  nose. 

"Faugh,"  she  cried,  disdainfully.  "Such 
trumpery!  And  they'll  drink  with  smiles  though 
they  Know  'tis  horrible.  .  .  .  But  why  should 
they  drink  it  at  all  —  the  dears,  who  are  working 
for  the  poor?  Nay,  Dorcas  Greene,  we'll  sur- 
prise 'em,  you  and  I.  They  shall  have  a  royal 
drink,  for  once,  and,  trust  me,  they'll  like  it. 
See!" 

And  into  the  great  china  teapot  she  threw  the 
Bohea  with  a  generous  hand  and  quickly  poured 
the  boiling  water  over  it,  laughing  heartily  at  the 
awe-stricken  face  of  the  housekeeper. 

"Oh,  what  have  you  done,  what  have  you 
done?"  moaned  the  old  woman,  her  hands  held 
in  protest  to  heaven.  "  I  must  throw  it  away  at 
once,  I  must,  indeed,  or  there'll  be  great  scandal 
in  the  town." 

"Dorcas!"  warned  the  girl,  "I  hear  my  con- 
science saying  that  I  must  tell  Mr.  Moorehead 
how  'twas  the  tea  came  to  be  saved.  I  think  I 
ought  to  go  now  and  find  him." 

'Alackaday,    Mistress    Drake,    come    back, 

[149] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

come  back!"  was  the  distressed  appeal.  Con- 
stance turned  with  a  radiant  smile  of  innocence. 

"Ah,  Dorcas,"  she  said,  "I  thought  you  would 
relent.  So  now  we'll  serve  the  'Daughters  of 
Liberty'  with  a  drink  that  will  make  'em  smack 
their  lips  again.  And  —  hush  —  there  is  still 
some  Bohea  left  for  you.  Hide  it,  and  Mr. 
Moorehead  shall  never  be  the  wiser,  I  promise 
you." 

With  Barbara's  help,  the  tea-things  were 
borne  triumphantly  to  the  parlor,  and  on  sight 
of  them  the  youthful  deities  of  the  spinning- 
wheel  ceased  their  twirling  with  something  like 
relief.  Earnest  laborers  in  the  patriotic  vine- 
yard though  they  were,  Parson  Moorehead's 
system  of  keeping  them  all  at  work  without  a 
moment's  intermission  had  proven  a  bit  irksome 
for  young  blood.  They  gathered  around  the 
refreshment  trays  like  magpies  suddenly  re- 
leased, and  then,  each,  with  cup  in  hand,  flocked 
to  Constance,  the  jealous  guardian  of  the  teapot. 

Soberly,  as  if  officiating  at  the  most  solemn 
function,  the  girl  poured  the  steaming,  amber 
liquid  into  the  cups,  noting  with  inward  delight, 
however,  the  subtle  stir  that  seemed  to  enter  the 
room  as  a  delicious,  long  unsmelled  aroma  arose 
on  the  air.  Pretty  noses  dilated,  and  pretty 
eyes  looked  puzzled.  But  no  one  spake  her 
suspicion. 

'  Now,  young  ladies,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Moorehead,  with  his  best  mixture  of  oratory 
and  condescension,  "now  that  our  cups  are 
filled  with  that  beverage  in  which  is  no  taint  of 

[150] 


THE  SPINNERS  AT  TEA 

tyranny,  let  us  drink  to  our  queen,  the  fair  God- 
dess of  Liberty.  May  her  reign  over  us  soon  be 
undisputed  by  the  claims  of  any  other  sovereign." 

The  good  man  put  his  cup  to  his  lips  and  drank 
deeply;  the  members  of  his  flock  did  likewise. 
Over  the  clergyman's  face  stole  an  expression  of 
supreme  content,  the  result  of  an  unconscious 
cerebration  set  up  at  the  command  of  a  gratified 
stomach.  But  in  another  instant,  as  reason  re- 
asserted itself,  his  features  flexed  with  anger, 
and  he  threw  what  remained  in  his  cup  savagely 
on  the  floor. 

"What  chicanery  is  this?"  he  shouted.  "Who 
has  dared  - 

The  Daughters  of  Liberty,  some  almost  in 
tears,  others  inclined  to  levity,  and  still  others 
ignorant  of  what  was  amiss,  followed  his  angry 
glance  toward  Constance  Drake,  who  stood  oy 
her  teapot,  smiling  and  defiant. 

"Oh,  Connie,"  whispered  the  terrified  Bar- 
bara to  her  friend,  "  was  —  was't  you  who  did 
this  thing?" 

Constance  raised  her  chin  in  air,  tipping  her 
curly  head  at  the  most  charming  angle  imagin- 
able. She  looked  calmly  at  her  victims  for  a  full 
half  minute  before  she  spoke. 

"What  matters  how  it  came  about,  ladies, 
and  —  and  Rev.  Mr.  Moorehead,"  she  said 
gaily.  "  That  shall  ever  be  a  mystery.  Mayhap 
some  goddess,  more  powerful  than  any,  trans- 
formed the  beverage  in  the  pot;  mayhap  rasp- 
berry leaves  have  taken  new  form.  Howe'er  it 
be,  history  shall  say  that  the  Daughters  of  Lib- 

[151] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

erty,  at  Mr.  Moorehead's  house  on  the  seven- 
teenth of  March,  1775,  drank  Bohea  as  a  toast 
to  Liberty.  My  duty  to  you  all;  I  must  home 
to  my  uncle,  who's  but  poorly."  And  with  a 
most  uncharitable  outbreak  of  laughter,  Mis- 
tress Drake  flounced  out  of  the  room  and  was 
gone. 

Poor  Barbara  followed  and  caught  her. 

"Oh,  Constance,"  she  cried,  *  whatever  did 
you  do  such  a  madcap  thing  for?  You've  dis- 
graced us  all.  Why,  I  cannot  hold  my  head  up 
in  town  after  this." 

"Never  mind,  child,"  returned  her  friend, 
kindly,  "you'll  not  need  to  bother  about  your 
head.  We  are  soon  going  to  Uncle  Giles'  coun- 
try place  at  Menotomy,  and  you  may  go,  too. 
Now,  run  back  and  try  to  comfort  your  sinning 
sisters." 


[152] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
On  a  Secret  Mission 

THE  soft  April  moonlight  sifted  through  the 
tender  young  foliage  of  the  trees  of  Con- 
cord village  upon  the  roof  and  sides  of  a  fine 
Colonial  double  house  situated  a  little  beyond 
the  main  square  on  the  road  to  the  bridge  leading 
to  Acton.  It  revealed  a  picture  as  unusual  to 
the  quiet  town  as  it  was  striking  to  the  eye,  for, 
spite  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  bright  lights 
gleamed  from  the  windows,  merging  their  rays 
into  those  of  the  moon  with  an  almost  uncanny 
effect.  A  half-dozen  stout  farmers,  holding 
their  flintlocks  with  something  of  military  pre- 
cision, paced  back  and  forth  before  the  house, 
challenging  each  and  every  one  of  the  many 
messengers  who  drew  rein  or  halted  their 
steps  from  time  to  time,  permitting  no  one 
whose  credentials  were  not  regular  to  cross  the 
threshold. 

In  the  clearer  light  of  a  little  elevation  behind 
the  house,  a  still  larger  body  of  men  lay  silently 
encamped  around  a  long,  low,  brick  building,  a 
small  field-piece  of  brass  gleaming  coldly  beside 
them. 

The  grave  solemnity  of  all  this,  the  coming 
and  going  of  mounted  men,  the  mysterious  whis- 

[153] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

perings  to  the  guards,  the  sounds  of  earnest 
voices  from  within*  and  the  something  that  made 
the  very  air  tense  around  them,  had  its  due  effect 
upon  a  trio  of  men  who  had  just  arrived  in  Con- 
cord from  Boston  on  foot,  as  their  dusty  boots 
and  the  wearied  manner  of  two  of  them  bore 
evidence.  Only  one,  the  gigantic  Tobias  Gookin, 
seemed  to  have  thriven  and  grown  more  buoyant 
by  the  trip.  All  three  stood  aimlessly  before  the 
guarded  house,  making  a  virtue  of  necessity,  for 
they  had  not  been  able  to  convince  the  men  with 
muskets  that  they  were  of  sufficient  importance 
to  be  admitted  to  the  councils  of  the  great. 

"Come  neaow,  Bill  Fletcher,"  argued  "Long 
Toby,"  with  one  of  the  guards,  "I  know  yew, 
and  yew  know  me's  well's  aour  old  cat  knows  her 
kittens.  Jest  yew  lemme  in  fer  a  minute." 

"In  BiU'rica  I  know  ye,"  returned  the  other, 
"  but  here  —  no,  siree.  Ye  hain't  got  any  pass, 
Toby,  and  ye  can't  go  in;  that  settles  it." 

'Ye  see,"  whispered  the  somewhat  crestfallen 
giant  to  Johonnot  and  Thomas,  who  had  come 
out  with  him  on  his  promise  to  get  them  some- 
thing to  do  for  the  cause,  "ye  see  the  Committee 
of  Safety  —  or  part  of  it,  at  least  —  is  in  thar, 
and  they  have  to  be  durned  keerful  as  to  who 
gets  to  'em.  But  jest  ye  wait  awhile  —  that's 
all  I  say  --  jest  ye  wait.  I'll  show  Bill  Fletcher 
that  he  can't  run  the  hull  o'  Christendom  with 
his  passes  an*  guns." 

"I  hear,"  observed  Johonnot,  "that  the  clerk, 
John  Pigeon,  has  got  guards  posted  on  all  the 

[154] 


ON  A  SECRET  MISSION 

roads  hereabouts,  besides  the  one  we  passed 
coming  in." 

;*Yew  bet  he  has,"  said  Toby,  enthusiasti- 
cally, "an*  furthermore  there's  a  big  army  a-form- 
in'  this  very  minute  all  over  New  England.  Out- 
side of  Boston,  I  hear,  there's  nothin'  talked  of 
but  fight,  an'  fight  'twill  be,  fer  thet's  what  the 
last  news  from  Parliament  means,  an'  nuthin* 
less.  They're  callin'  us  'rebels'  already;  thet's 
fer  our  raisin'  the  five  comp'nies  of  artillery  an' 
payin'  'em  fer  bein'  ready,  I  s'pose.  See  thet 
thar  buildin'  aout  thar?" 

The  others  followed  the  sweep  of  Gookin's 
tremendous  arm  till  their  eyes  rested  on  the  long 
brick  building  behind  the  house. 

"Wall,"  continued  Tobias,  "in  thet  buildin' 
is  a  powerful  lot  o'  muskets,  an'  powder,  an'  ball, 
an'  four  or  five  cannon  ter  boot.  Naouw,  what 
d'ye  think  those  men  are  a-campin'  raound  thet 
place  fur?" 

"To  protect  the  munitions,  sure,"  replied 
Thomas,  proud  of  his  perspicacity. 

"Yes,  siree,  but  who  from?  I'll  tell  ye.  A 
report  reached  here  a  few  days  ago  that  old  Gage 
was  a-comin'  aout  this  way  on  a  leetle  walkin* 
trip,  an'  thet  he  mought  gobble  up  them  thar 
playthings.  So  Colonel  Barrett,  he  jest  got  a 
lot  o'  the  Minute  Men  together,  an'  thar's  the 
result.  Let  the  durned  bloody  backs  come  on; 
they'll  git  back  ter  Bosting  withaout  waitin'  fer 
tea,  ye  kin  jest  bet." 

Johonnot,  who  was  getting  rather  grumpy  at 
the  sudden  check  to  his  desire  for  soldiery, 

[155] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

sniffed  a  bit  at  this.  He  was  stanchly  a  Patriot, 
but  he  was  not  inclined  to  allow  Gookin  to  revel 
in  omniscience  unchallenged.  Besides,  he  had 
his  professional  dignity  as  a  tailor  to  uphold. 

"They  may  be  great  soldiers,  as  you  say, 
Toby,"  he  declared,  "but  they  don't  look  it. 
Why,  there's  hardly  one  uniform  to  ten  men, 
and  even  those  are  shabby.  Now,  I  hold  that 
uniforms  - 

"Hold  yer  tongue,  then,  Johonnot,"  com- 
manded Gookin,  roughly,  "fer  unless  my  gin'- 
rally  purty  good  eyes  are  lyin',  here  comes  some- 
body we  very  much  want  ter  see." 

As  he  spoke,  a  horseman,  leaning  far  forward, 
and  covered  with  dust,  dashed  up  and  halted 
suddenly,  nearly  tramping  down  the  group  of 
friends.  He  leaped  from  his  saddle,  then  stood 
at  his  fine  animal's  head  for  a  moment,  patting 
its  distended  nostrils,  careless  of  the  foam  that 
fell  upon  his  white  hands.  Then  he  turned 
and  beckoned  Gookin  to  his  side.  For  a  mo- 
ment they  whispered  together. 

"Wait  for  me  here,  Toby,"  he  said,  aloud. 
"My  errand  is  brief." 

"Brandon!"  exclaimed  Thorn  as  and  Johonnot 
in  unison,  as  the  young  man  disappeared  into 
the  yellow  flood  of  light  that  greeted  him  at  the 
front  door. 

'Yes,  Brandon,"  said  "Long  Toby,"  with 
great  emphasis,  "an'  let  me  tell  yew,  friends, 
he's  away  up  in  the  caouncils  of  ther  great. 
He'll  see  thet  yew  git  sunthin'  ter  dew  ef  I  only 
ask  him,  an'  I  rayther  guess  I  will,  seein's  yew've 

[1561 


ON  A  SECRET  MISSION 

been  so  accommodatin'  as  ter  walk  way  aout 
here." 

When  John  Brandon  reached  the  quiet  inner 
room  in  which  the  Committee  of  Safety  was  met, 
he  found  four  men  gathered  around  a  great 
table  well  lighted  by  candles.  A  portion  of  this 
was  heaped  with  letters,  notes,  and  dispatches, 
but  its  chief  occupant  was  a  large,  roughly 
drawn  map  of  New  England,  over  which  the 
hands  of  one  of  their  number  were  playing  with 
great  rapidity,  as  he  placed  miniature  chessman 
here,  arranged  groups  of  little  bullets  there,  and 
disposed  tiny  heaps  of  black  sand  elsewhere,  while 
the  others,  Richard  Devens,  Benjamin  White, 
and  Clerk  Pigeon,  looked  on  with  craning  necks 
and  an  occasional  word  of  suggestion.  It  was  a 

oc^ 

picture  to  stir  young  blood,  and  Brandon  straight- 
ened with  pride  in  the  face  of  it. 

"Gentlemen,  your  pleasure,"  he  said,  at  last. 

The  strategist  looked  up  from  his  engrossing 
game  with  a  smile  of  welcome. 

"Ah,  Brandon,"  he  exclaimed,  "right  glad 
am  I  to  see  you  again.  Well,  what  are  we  to 
expect?" 

'  Rhode  Island's  greeting,  sir,  is  that  she  will 
do  her  full  duty." 

"And  that  means  — ?" 

"That  she  will  raise  and  equip  fifteen  hun- 
dred men  to  co-operate  with  the  force  of  the 
other  colonies." 

"Please  God  they  can  raise  powder  as  well," 
said  Clerk  Pigeon,  fervently. 

"Connecticut   has   been    prompt,    and   New 

[157] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Hampshire  is  not  behind,"   observed  Devens. 
"  If  we  must  fight,  it  will  be  with  a  united  people." 

"Would  that  the  union  might  be  still  more 
complete,"  mused  the  guardian  of  the  map,  "a 
union  of  independent  states.  .  .  .  But  the  pow- 
der—  that  is  the  most  urgent  need.  I  under- 
stand, Brandon,  that  you  — " 

The  sentence  was  finished  in  a  whisper,  and 
for  a  little  the  heads  of  the  men  almost  touched 
one  another  as  the  secret  colloquy  went  on. 

"Let  us  send  for  the  man,"  said  Devens,  at 
length. 

A  guard  was  called  from  the  corridor,  and 
presently  Toby  Gookin  received  the  high  honor 
of  a  summons  to  the  council-room,  to  the  great 
awe  of  Thomas  and  Johonnot,  who  felt  at  last 
that  their  guide  was  as  powerful  as  he  had 
claimed  to  be.  Visions  of  nigh  military  prefer- 
ment floated  before  their  excited  minds,  and 
they  spent  the  half-hour  before  the  giant  reap- 
peared discussing  the  probabilities  of  war,  for 
which  they  now  fervently  hoped. 

*  You'll  not  forget  anything  I've  told  you  to 
tell  my  father?"  they  heard  John  Brandon  say 
to  Toby,  as  the  two  came  down  the  steps. 

'Yew  kin  depend  on't  that  I'll  not,"  answered 
Gookin,  resolutely. 

"I  believe  you,  Tobias,"  returned  Brandon, 
wringing  the  huge  paw  of  the  countryman  as 
well  as  ne  could.  "Now,  then,  if  I  live,  I  shall 
be  on  the  turnpike  road  beyond  the  Neck  on 
Monday  next.  Do  not  fail  us,  and,  above  all, 
be  cautious.  Good-night." 

[158] 


The  huge  frame  slouched  away  into  the  shad- 
ows of  trees,  and  then  vanished.  Brandon 
turned  to  the  two  eager  Patriots,  who  had  viewed 
the  sudden  disappearance  of  their  champion 
with  some  anxiety  lest  the  expense  of  a  night  at 
the  tavern  in  the  neighboring  green  would  be 
their  immediate  lot. 

"Well,  friends,  what  service  can  I  do  you?" 
he  asked,  with  an  indulgent  smile.  Truly  the 
wearied  pair  were  not  imposing. 

"John  Brandon,"  spoke  up  Johonnot,  in- 
cisively, "  there's  going  to  be  trouble.  We  know 
it  as  well  as  you.  We're  here  to  do  something 
for  the  country,  and  by  the  eternal  God  we'll 
not  go  away  until  we  get  the  chance!" 

"There's  where  I  stand,  too,"  cried  Thomas. 

All  the  amusement  fled  in  one  splendid  in- 
stant from  the  young  man's  face.  This  was 
what  he  had  longed  for,  had  prayed  for  —  the 
firm,  sincere  determination  on  the  part  of  men 
not  hitherto  known  for  heroism,  that  they  would 
live  and  die  for  liberty.  Instinctively  he  bared 
his  head  and  held  out  nis  right  hand. 

'You  are  right,  men,"  he  cried,  exultingly, 
"there  are  things  to  do,  and  we  want  such  as  you 
to  do  them.  Follow  me!" 


[159] 


CHAPTER  XIX 
An  Episode  of  the  Turnpike 

ON  the  turnpike  road  leading  to  Boston  by 
way  of  the  narrow  and  rather  dreary  strip 
of  marshy  and  water-bordered  land  known  as 
"The  Neck,"  a  coach,  drawn  by  two  horses, 
driven  by  a  negro,  was  lumbering  along  under 
the  genial  sunsnine  of  a  mid-April  day.  The 
bright  gleam  of  its  yellow  sides  and  the  smart 
cracking  of  the  whip  in  the  hands  of  the  dusky 
Jehu  suggested  a  cheeriness  that  was,  however,  ill 
borne  out  by  the  growls  of  disgust  and  discomfort 
that  from  time  to  time  proceeded  from  the  open 
windows  of  the  chariot.  As  the  wheels  struck 
an  especially  bad  spot  in  a  very  bad  road  at  best, 
a  red  and  angry  face  popped  out  and  then  popped 
back  again.  And  by  that  token  all  the  world 
might  have  seen  that  Councillor  Romney  was 
returning  to  Boston  in  a  state  of  marked  ill- 
temper. 

"Confound  the  fellow!"  exclaimed  the  old 
man  to  Constance,  who  was  his  companion  back 
from  the  country  home  at  Menotomy.  "Why 
can't  he  drive  more  carefully  ?" 

"Tis  a  rough  road,  you   know,  uncle,"  re- 
plied the  girl,  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  soothe 

[160J 


AN  EPISODE  OF  THE  TURNPIKE 

away  the  pangs  of  a  gouty  foot  made  manifest 
by  every  jarring  of  the  clumsy  vehicle. 

"Aye,"  snorted  the  Councillor,  as  another 
jolt  shook  his  long-suffering  member,  "but  why 
need  he  strike  every  stone  and  hummock  with 
a  wheel?  'Tis  as  I  feared;  Pompey  as  a  coach- 
man is  as  useless  as  a  land-lubber  at  a  ship's 
wheel." 

"But  you  bade  him  make  haste,  remember, 
uncle." 

"And  he  only  makes  jolts,"  was  the  sardonic 
reply.  "Well,  what  should  a  school  nigger 
know  of  driving  ?  At  this  rate  'twill  be  dark  ere 
we  reach  home." 

For  some  time  neither  spoke,  unless  an  occa- 
sional poorly  smothered  oath  from  old  Romney 
at  his  driver,  his  horses,  his  vehicle,  and  the 
road  might  have  been  called  speaking.  For  her 
part,  Constance  pondered  rather  moodily  on 
the  change  in  their  household  affairs.  Despite 
her  expected  satisfaction  at  leaving  Boston,  she 
now  almost  wished  that  this  return  to  the  Winter 
Street  mansion  were  to  be  permanent,  instead  of 
a  mere  flying  trip  to  gather  up  the  odds  and  ends 
of  their  domestic  outfit,  forgotten  in  the  con- 
fusion of  yesterday's  moving.  But  this,  she 
decided,  was  folly,  for  Aunt  Tabitha  and  the 
servants  were  fully  installed  at  Menotomy,  and 
the  good  lady  was  not  one  to  retransfer  her  lares 
and  penates  without  good  and  sufficient  reason. 
But  even  though  she  remembered  with  delight 
the  songs  of  birds  and  the  pink  and  white  glory 
of  the  apple  trees  she  had  just  left  behind,  the 

[161]    ' 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

girl  felt  a  vague  —  and  thus  vexatious,  for  she 
liked  her  emotions  to  be  clean-cut  —  foreboding 
against  a  return  to  the  fragrant  country. 

With  her  mind  in  this  condition,  she  was 
startled  to  hear  her  uncle  break  the  silence  with 
a  sentiment  so  like  her  own. 

"Why  was  ever  I  persuaded  to  leave  the 
town?"  he  exclaimed,  pettishly.  "No  good,  I 
fear,  will  come  of  it." 

"Well,  why  not  return?"  suggested  Con- 
stance. 

"And  be  laughed  at?  They'd  swear  I  was 
terrified  by  the  rascals  swaggering  about  the 
country  taverns  and  reviling  their  King." 

"And  were  you?"  was  the  mischievous  ques- 
tion. 

"Afraid?  No!"  roared  the  stout  old  fellow. 
"If  they  dare  one  overt  act  Gage  will  scatter 
them  like  wisps  of  straw.  .  .  .  Besides,  I've 
harmed  none  of  them,  and,  after  all,  we  are  fel- 
low countrymen." 

"I'd  trust  to  that,  methinks,  rather  than  to 
Gage,"  was  the  significant  retort.  Old  Giles 
looked  at  his  niece  keenly. 

"What  on  earth  does  the  girl  mean  ?"  he  said. 

"  Only  that,  from  what  we've  seen  in  the  past 
few  days,  I  fancy  that  those  '  wisps  of  straw '  are 
pretty  numerous  and  united  in  respectable 
bundles." 

"They  are — "  began  the  Councillor  with  a 
fierceness  that  promised  some  particularly  scath- 
ing judgment  on  the  bands  of  Patriots  they  had 
passed  on  their  way  to  and  from  Menotomy. 

[162] 


AN  EPISODE  OF  THE  TURNPIKE 

It  was  promise  merely,  for  at  that  exact  moment, 
as  the  coach  was  swinging  around  a  turn  in  the 
road,  it  gave  a  tremendous  lurch,  then  a  dismal 
creak,  and,  amid  wild  yells  from  Pompey  and 
the  snorting  of  the  horses  as  they  were  pulled 
suddenly  upon  their  haunches,  the  big  vehicle 
swayed  for  a  moment  like  a  scow  in  a  hurricane- 
sea  and  rolled  upon  its  side  into  the  ditch,  a 
most  undignified  position  for  a  councillor's 
coach  to  assume. 

Constance  shot  forward  into  the  opposite  cor- 
ner and  landed  squarely  upon  the  well-meated 
frame  of  her  uncle,  who  gave  a  gasp  and  a  groan 
that  frightened  her  exceedingly.  But  by  the 
fervid  "Blast  the  nigger!  I  knew  he'd  do  it!" 
that  rolled  from  the  prostrate  Councillor's  mouth, 
she  knew  that  no  very  dangerous  result  had  at- 
tended the  upset. 

Far  more  terrifying  now  was  the  sound  of  a 
voice  outside,  and  a  familiar  voice,  too. 

"Never  mind  the  horses;  look  to  the  people 
in  the  coach,"  it  said. 

Now  here  was  Mistress  Constance  Drake,  the 
toast  of  the  officers,  the  much-sought-after  beauty 
of  the  Royalist  set,  quite  topsy-turvy  inside  a 
coach,  a  delicious  mass  of  disorganized  furbe- 
lows, a  bewitching  study  in  silken  hose  and 
filmy  lace  adjuncts.  Yet  she  distinctly  rebelled 
against  it  all. 

"Keep  away,"  she  cried.  "Don't  dare  to 
look  in  the  window  until  I  —  I  — " 

In  another  instant  she  had  scrambled  into 
decorum  again,  if  not  into  dignity.  Then  as  she 

U631 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

realiaed  the  absurdity  of  the  situation,  she  broke 
into  musical  laughter,  that  sounded,  however, 
anything  but  pleasant  to  the  groaning  old 
Councillor. 

"Connie,  Connie,"  he  wailed,  "you'd  laugh, 
I'm  thinking,  if  you  stood  by  your  own  open 
grave." 

"And  why  not,  pray?"  she  retorted,  tugging 
vainly  at  the  coach  door,  "'twould  be  my  last 
chance,  mayhap." 

"Mistress  Drake,"  came  a  voice  from  with- 
out, "can  we  venture  to  be  of  assistance  now?" 

With  another  petulant  wrench  at  the  door 
handle,  she  cried,  '  We  certainly  are  not  anxious 
to  remain  here  permanently." 

Then  the  attractive  face  of  Lieutenant  Charl- 
ton,  none  the  less  welcome  because  it  was  clouded 
by  very  real  concern,  appeared  over  the  window. 
With  the  assistance  of  another  officer,  the  door 
was  pried  open,  and  then  out  stepped  Mistress 
Drake,  rosy  red  and  half  inclined  to  mingle 
pouts  with  her  smiles. 

To  get  the  more  ponderous  Uncle  Giles  ex- 
tricated was  a  matter  of  greater  difficulty.  In 
fact,  he  was  totally  helpless,  for  his  leg  had  been 
twisted  under  him  when  the  crash  came,  and  his 
knee-joint  was  sprained  severely.  Finally,  he 
was  dragged  out  by  main  force,  uttering  senti- 
ments that  made  Constance  stop  her  ears  in 
pretty  dismay,  and  was  seated  upon  the  earth 
by  the  roadside,  a  picture  of  rubicund  and  be- 
wigged  misery. 

Pompey,  who  had  succeeded  in  detaching  the 
[164] 


AN  EPISODE  OF  THE  TURNPIKE 

horses  from  the  coach,  now  came  up,  well-plas- 
tered with  mud  and  full  of  apologies  and  ex- 
planations. 

"Bress  de  Lawd,  Marse  Romney,"  he  cried, 
"dat  you  ain't  dead  as  Julia  Csesum.  I  'spec's 
you  blame  me,  but  wise  old  Socrytys  hisself 
could  nebber  help  it.  Look!" 

He  pointed  to  a  long,  squat,  four-wheeled  cart 
drawn  by  a  pair  of  strong  horses,  halted  at  al- 
most right  angles  to  the  road. 

"Dar,  sah,"  said  Pompey,  triumphantly,  "to 
'void  collapsin'  wid  dat  waggin,  I  was  'bliged  to 
fotch  de  arc  of  a  circumflex,  and  dat's  what 
tipped  ober  de  chariot.  'Twould  'a'  been  wusser 


"Shut  up,  you  black  ignoramus,"  roared 
Romney,  "  and  go  and  find  out  how  I  can  be  got 
home." 

Constance  saw  that  the  wagon  was  surrounded 
by  redcoats,  and  that  a  small  man,  whose  figure 
looked  familiar,  was  engaged  in  a  lively  discus- 
sion with  them. 

"Now,  perhaps,  after  the  damage  you've 
done,"  he  cried,  "you'll  let  us  go  on." 

"Not  till  we've  stripped  that  load,"  sneered 
an  officer.  "Fertilizer  you  call  it,  but  strange 
to  say,  'tother  night  just  such  a  load  as  yours 
turned  into  musket-cartridges  and  balls  at  the 
mere  touch  of  a  bayonet." 

"But  I  assure  you,  sir,"  resumed  the  shrill, 
high-pitched  voice  which  Constance  now  recog- 
nized as  belonging  to  little  George  Robert  Twelves 
Hewes.  The  soldier  cut  him  short  with  no  other 

[165] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

ceremony  than  that  of  drawing  his  sword,  before 
which,  however,  Hewes  did  not  give  way  an  inch. 

"If  'tis  as  you  say,"  declared  the  redcoat, 
"the  search  will  do  no  harm.  Sergeant,  a  half 
dozen  men  here!" 

The  troopers  were  just  ready  to  reduce  Mr. 
Hewes'  wagon-load  to  its  lowest  terms,  when  a 
horseman  came  dashing  down  the  turnpike, 
halting  his  steed  between  the  coach  and  the 
group  around  the  farm-cart. 

"Halloa,  what  has  happened?" 

Only  this  query,  and  Constance  knew  without 
a  look  that  the  rider  was  John  Brandon.  She 
marveled  at  the  chance  —  or  was  it  design  ?  — 
that  had  brought  him  thither;  that  they  two  were 
to  meet  again  under  circumstances  that  bade 
fair  to  be  stormy,  indeed. 

At  Brandon's  words,  another  figure,  tall,  un- 
gainly, and  slouching,  came  from  the  farther  side 
of  the  cart,  and  the  girl  with  a  half  smile  saw  in 
it  the  rustic  Toby  Gookin  who  had  once  offered 
to  place  his  life  at  her  disposal.  A  doughty 
champion,  indeed! 

"Well,  Toby,"  demanded  Brandon,  sharply. 

"Well,  neaow,"  replied  the  big  countryman, 
with  a  voice  that  trembled  amazingly,  and  knees 
that  shook  very  unvaliantly,  "yew  see,  sir,  these 
-these  soldier  gentlemen,  I  guess,  don't  want 
us  tew  go  further  to-night.  Neaow,  ef  Mr. 
Romney  there  - 

He  pointed  a  colossal  forefinger  at  the  little 
group  by  the  roadside,  and  Brandon,  with  a  start 

[166] 


AN  EPISODE  OF  THE  TURNPIKE 

that  set  his  spirited  horse  a-dancing,  saw — Con- 
stance. 

Almost  inevitably,  it  seemed,  he  rode  up  to 
the  prostrate  Romnev  and  the  pretty  niece,  who 
were  now  alone,  as  Charlton  had  been  called  to 
the  soldiers.  He  would  have  spoken,  had  not 
Gookin  followed  him  and  seized  him  by  the  arm, 
Something  he  said  in  an  undertone  to  his  leader, 
something  that  made  the  rider  frown. 

"I  cannot  do  that,"  Brandon  said,  "besides, 
'twould  do  no  good." 

"Remember,  sir,  it's  fer — "  And  again  his 
words  became  inaudible. 

Then  Brandon's  form  straightened,  and  he 
threw  a  glance  at  Mistress  Drake  that  she  could 
but  think  held  something  of  appeal.  Then  he 
spoke  firmly,  but  not  to  her. 

"  This  is  an  outrage,  officers.  Methinks  Coun- 
cillor Romney  has  suffered  enough  already  to- 
day, without  this  indignity  to  his  farmers." 

Charlton  and  his  subordinate  officer  looked  at 
one  another  with  perplexity  in  their  eyes. 

As  for  Constance,  she  flushed  hotly,  and 
would  have  flared  out  with  some  indignant  pro- 
test, had  not  Brandon,  leaning  over  his  horse's 
neck  as  if  to  arrange  a  portion  of  its  bridle, 
brought  his  face  close  to  hers. 

"Constance,"  he  said,  rapidly,  "that  wagon 
bears  ammunition  that,  if  seized,  will  be  traced 
to  my  father.  'Tis  for  his  sake." 

Then  he  was  off  to  the  other  side  of  the  road 
without  a  look.  Charlton  approached  with  the 
deference  of  soldierly  gallantry. 

[167] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Have  we,  indeed,  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
meddle  with  the  property  of  the  King's  Coun- 
cillor?" he  asked. 

Old  Romney,  to  whom  the  inquiry  was  di- 
rected, answered  only  by  a  louder  groan  than 
its  predecessor.  He  was  flat  on  his  back  now, 
ana  evidently  suffering  severely. 

"My  uncle  is  in  great  distress,  as  you  see," 
said  Constance.  "Mayhap,  it  would  be  in- 
creased if  —  if  he  knew  —  knew  what  is  going 

"We  ask  pardon  of  him,  through  you,"  con- 
tinued Charlton,  making  a  gesture  to  nis  brother 
officer.  A  sharp  word  of  command,  and  the 
soldiers  fell  back  from  around  the  wagon. 

"Now  drive  on,"  ordered  the  lieutenant  to 
Gookin.  'You  can  pass  the  coach,  I  think." 

"Long  Toby,"  with  elaborate  grumbling  and 
much  clumsiness,  got  his  horse  in  motion,  and 
the  wagon  went  creaking  and  lumbering  by. 

1  'Tis  a  heavy  load,  neaow,  miss,"  said  Tobias, 
as  he  passed,  "but  when  properly  distrib'ted, 
'twill  dew  fine  sarvice.  G'lang,  Castor;  gid  ap, 
Pollux." 

Never  had  Mistress  Drake  been  so  angry  with 
herself,  never  so  unutterably  disgusted  with  her 
own  weakness.  Why  should  she,  of  all  women 
in  the  world,  be  party  to  such  a  trick  as  this,  such 
a  scheme  to  aid  the  enemy  and  a  man  she  was 
sure  she  hated  ?  She  turned  toward  the  officers. 

"I-  '  she  begun,  but  that  was  all.  Some- 
thing in  Brandon's  mute  appeal  was  stronger 
than  her  will. 

[168] 


"Will  no  one  help  me  get  my  uncle  home?" 
she  cried,  a  moment  later. 

Quick  as  a  flash,  and  with  an  alert  grace  that 
Constance  could  but  admire,  John  Brandon  was 
down  from  his  horse,  and  by  her  side. 

"The  coach  is  beyond  immediate  repair,'*  he 
said,  "  but  I  will  - 

"  Don't  dare  speak  to  me,  sir,"  whispered  the 
girl,  pale  with  suppressed  passion,  "or  I  will 
cap  your  little  farce  with  tragedy.  .  . .  Lieutenant 
Charlton,  you  may  aid  me  in  bringing  my  uncle 
to  his  home,  if  you  will." 

The  delighted  officer  was  full  of  energy  in  a 
moment. 

"My  men  shall  make  a  litter  of  saplings  and 
boughs  for  your  uncle  and  yourself." 

"Thank  you,  but  not  for  me,"  returned  Con- 
stance, with  a  radiant  smile.  ;<  Your  arm  — 
if  I  may." 

John  Brandon  mounted  his  horse  silently 
and  rode  slowly  toward  the  farm-wagon  now 
almost  lost  to  view  in  the  gathering  dusk.  Over 
the  rider's  head,  as  he  went  on  into  the  dull 
crimson  of  the  dying  day,  appeared  the  molten 
glow  of  a  star.  But  the  picture  held  no  beauty 
nor  significance  to  the  troubled  girl.  She 
stamped  her  foot  with  a  little  exclamation  of 
petulance. 

"What  can  I  do?  What  annoys  you,  Mis- 
tress Drake?"  asked  Charlton. 

"I  could  die  with  shame,"  was  the  reply. 

Charlton  decided  that  she  was  vexed  at  me  con- 
tretemps in  the  coach,  and  was  casting  about 

[169] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

for  some  pretty  words  of  comfort,  when  she 
broke  out  suddenly:  "Pompey!" 

'Yes,  missy,"  returned  the  half -frightened, 
half-amused  darky. 

'You're  a  fool,  Pompey!" 

"Yes,  missy." 

"And  as  big  a  one  as  I." 

"  Yes,  missy  —  no,  missy  —  bress  de  Lawd,  I 
dunno  what  I  mean.  I'se  in  a  bigger  mess  dan 
Dedylus  in  his  layberith." 


[170) 


D 


CHAPTER  XX 
A  Discovery  and  a  Message 

R.  GAIR  shook  his  little  round  head  omi- 
nously. 

"The  sprain,  of  itself,  is  not  severe,"  he  said, 
"but  its  addition  to  the  inflammation  of  his 
gouty  affection  is  serious.  Fever  will  set  in  and 
it  would  be  dangerous  to  attempt  to  remove  him 
for  some  days." 

The  surgeon  had  met  the  cavalcade  of  red- 
coats, with  their  groaning  burden  in  the  litter, 
just  as  it  entered  the  more  thickly  settled  por- 
tion of  the  town,  and  had  quickly  given  his  pro- 
fessional opinion,  ending  the  sentence  with  his 
customary  shrill  squeak.  He  jocularly  proposed 
to  prescribe  for  the  coach,  too,  which  Pompey 
and  some  of  the  soldiers  had  tied  up  with  leathern 
straps  and  given  sufficient  strength  to  be  dragged 
to  town  with  no  riders.  Constance  ordered  the 
darky  to  haul  the  chariot  to  chaise-maker  Peleg 
Perkins  without  more  ado,  and  to  tell  Barbara 
Brandon,  on  the  way,  that  she  was  wanted  at  the 
Romney  mansion. 

"And  what  am  I  to  do  for  a  servant?"  the 
girl  said,  in  some  perplexity.  "I  must  tend 
uncle,  and  cannot  do  the  housework." 

Pompey  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  as  usual. 
[171] 


"Nebber  trouble  yo'se'f  'bout  dat,  missy," 
said  the  black.  "Dar's  Miss  Aggernes,  de 
Hancocks'  colored  gal,  who's  been  Tef  behind 
by  de  fambly.  I  kin  presuade  her  to  come  down 
here  an*  wuk  fer  you,  'deed  I  kin,  as  easy  as 
Nebbechudnezzar  eat  de  lions." 

Next  morning  fever  had  attacked  the  Coun- 
cillor, and  Dr.  Gair  looked  sober.  Delirium  had 
set  in,  and  the  old  man  was  calling  incessantly 
for  his  wife. 

"She  ought  to  be  here,  egad,"  said  the  sur- 
geon. "She'd  do  him  more  good  than  all  my 
pills  and  boluses." 

"I  will  go  for  her  myself,"  answered  Con- 
stance; "but  there  is  no  way  to  bring  her  till 
the  coach  is  repaired  late  this  afternoon." 

"  You  go?"  asked  the  little  man,  pursing  his 
lips  in  astonishment. 

"Certainly.     Why  not?"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"In  these  unsettled  times?" 

"After  all,  they  are  my  countrymen  out  there, 
Doctor.  They  have  never  harmed  me." 

"But  the  soldiers  —  they  are  not  always — " 

"If  there  is  fear  of  them,  it  is  greatest  here, 
where  they  are  most  numerous,  is  it  not?" 

The  doctor,  being  wise  in  his  generation,  saw 
a  gleam  in  the  girl  s  eyes  that  told  him  of  the 
futility  of  argument. 

"Then,  again,"  continued  Constance,  "there 
is  no  one  else  to  send  without  alarming  Aunt 
Tabitha,  whose  nerves  and  health  are  none  of 
the  best.  Nav,  doctor,  I  am  going!" 

Constance,  in  the  kitchen  a  little  later  pre- 
[m] 


A  DISCOVERY  AND  A  MESSAGE 

paring  gruel,  was  startled  to  see  Barbara  burst 
into  tne  room  with  an  impetuosity  quite  foreign 
to  her.  Her  cheeks  were  ruddier  than  ever,  and 
her  eyes  sparkled  prettily.  She  had  just  been 
home  to  bring  some  of  her  effects. 

"Well,  Barbara,"  said  her  friend,  "what  new 
event?" 

"John  has  returned,  Constance." 

"Indeed!"  This  very  calmly,  and  mingled 
almost  with  the  humming  of  a  tune  as  the  girl 
stirred  the  milk  in  the  porringer.  Barbara 
looked  very  unhappy  and  her  lip  quivered. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  met  him  nearly  at  the 
South  Meeting-house,  and  he  wouldn't  even  go 
home  with  me.  He  —  he  acts  so  strangely." 

"  Strangely  ?     How  so,  child  ?  " 

"  He  talks  of  his  duty  —  of  the  cause  - 

"'The  cause!  His  duty!'  Men  always  prate 
of  these  things  most  when  they  neglect  their 
own." 

At  that  Barbara's  family  pride  took  offence. 

"I'm  sure,  Constance  Drake,  that  John  is 
right,"  she  exclaimed. 

"So  ho,  little  Spitfire!  Then  why  do  you 
talk  so  of  him?" 

"I'm  afraid  for  him.  He  says  he  is  sent  here 
to  help  guard  the  people's  safety,  and  bade  me 
send  him  word  if  I  learned  aught  of  the  British 
movements.  The  country's  future  might  de- 
pend upon  the  knowledge." 

"  Maxes  a  cat's-paw  of  you,  eh  ?  Why  don't 
he  do  his  own  work?"  was  the  scornful  query. 

"He  fears  detention.     That  is  why  he  doesn't 

[173] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

return  home.  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  something  would 
mend  these  miserable  times." 

Constance's  heart  softened  before  the  real  and 
natural  solicitude  of  her  little  friend. 

"But  how  are  you  to  reach  him  where  he  is 
to  be  ?"  she  asked  kindly. 

"He  is  at  Samuel  Adams'  house,"  said  Bar- 
bara. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Constance,  nearly  upsetting 
the  basin  of  gruel  with  a  nervous  movement. 
Barbara  looked  at  her  anxiously. 

"Why,  what's  amiss,  Connie?"  she  ques- 
tioned. 

"I  —  I  nearly  burned  myself  with  a  spatter 
of  gruel,"  was  trie  reply. 

*  You  see,"  Barbara  went  on,   "the  Adams 
house  is  empty;  the  family  is  all  at  Concord." 

"  Indeed  ?  It  is  natural,  though,  that  it  should 
be  your  brother's  headquarters." 

*  Yes  —  as   he   says,    they'd   never   think   of 
looking  for  him  there." 

"  Why  not  ?     I  would,"  was  the  tart  rejoinder. 

'You  would  —  why,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  only  that  it  would  be  natural  to — but 
how  can  he — find  out  anything  shut  up  there?" 

"There  are  men  out  who  will  report  to  him. 
He's  clever  enough  to  arrange  such  things." 

"I  see,"  replied  Constance,  rather  wearily, 
as  if  tired  of  the  subject.  "Well,  I  will  take 
this  gruel  to  uncle.  Do  you  go  up  in  my  room 
and  lie  down." 

An  hour  later,  Constance  found  her  friend 
tossing  restlessly  on  her  bed.  As  she  looked 

[174] 


A  DISCOVERY  AND  A  MESSAGE 

down  at  the  flushed  face  and  noted  the  delicate 
blue  circles  that  had  of  late  crept  under  the  eyes 
of  the  little  girl,  a  great  wave  of  tenderness  came 
over  her  and  she  wondered  if  she  were  not  too 
often  impatient  with  her  friend  —  her  best 
friend,  after  all. 

"Not  asleep,  dear?"  she  asked  gently. 

"No,"  said  Barbara,  rather  sadly.  "I'm 
wide  awake  and  very  nervous." 

Constance    smiled    quizzically. 

"I  don't  suppose  anything  on  earth  would 
make  you  try  a  cup  of  -  -  tea  ?  '  she  asked. 

"I'd  like  to,  Connie,  if  the  truth  be  told.  I 
suppose  it  would  be  as  very  wrong  —  as  very  — 
nice.  Have  you  anything  I  may  read?" 

"Have  you  read  'Sir  Charles  Grandison*? 
'Tis  there  on  the  table,  then." 

Barbara  got  the  volume  and  threw  herself  on 
the  bed  again. 

"There,  I'm  comfortable,"  she  said,  with  a 
smile,  "  and  perchance  I'll  read  myself  to  sleep. 
Stay,  I  have  the  wrong  book.  'Tis  *  Pamela/ 
and  too  sad.  Halloa,  what's  this  ?  John's 
writing!  Had  you  a  note  from  him?" 

Constance  flushed  with  shame  and  something 
like  injured  pride.  "No,"  she  replied,  shortly. 

1 '  Do,  for  well  I  know,' "  read  Barbara,  aloud, 

"she  whom  I  love  is  a  goddess.     That  I  am 

unworthy  I  am '    -  why,  'tis  part  of  that  strange 

note  about  'his  goddess,  liberty,'  John  wrote  me 

the  day  he  - 

"Wrote  you!" 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course,"  replied  the  girl,  wonder- 

[175] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

ing  at  the  resonant  tone  of  delight,  of  surprise, 
of  relief,  even,  in  the  voice  of  Mistress  Drake. 

And  she  was  still  more  amazed  as  Mistress 
Drake  flew  to  her  bedside,  knelt  down  and 
hugged  her  royally,  and  then  cried  with  most 
illogical  enthusiasm: 

*  Barbara,  you're  a  dear!" 

She  would  have  spent  at  least  an  hour  asking 
about  the  looks  and  the  doings  of  John  Brandon, 
had  not  Agnes,  the  colored  maid,  knocked. 

"Missy  Drake,  dar's  a  sojer  gemmen  to  see 
you,"  the  servant  said. 

"A  soldier?  I  hate  all  soldiers!  Tell  him 
that,  Agnes." 

"Very  well,  Missy  Drake." 

"Constance!"  warned  Barbara. 

"No,  not  that  exactly.  Tell  him  I'll  be  down 
in  a  minute."  And  with  another  ecstatic  em- 
brace of  her  friend,  she  ran  downstairs,  singing. 

Lieutenant  Charlton's  eyes  were  gladdened 
by  the  sight  of  the  prettiest  Constance  he  had 
yet  beheld.  He  almost  grudged  the  common- 
places of  inquiry  about  Uncle  Romney  that 
seemed  somehow  to  keep  him  from  warmer 
words  to  the  girl  herself. 

"To-morrow,"  he  thought,  "may  alter  the 
fate  of  this  country  and  its  people.  I  must  not 
speak  now." 

But  in  his  simple  and  honest  way  he  offered 
to  be  of  any  assistance  possible. 

"After  to-day  I  am  not  my  own  master," 
he  went  on.  "  We  go  on  active  service  to-night." 

[176] 


A  DISCOVERY  AND  A  MESSAGE 

"On  active  service?"  asked  Constance,  pal- 
ing slightly.  "  War  is  then  declared  ?" 

'Oh,  no!  This  is  some  expedition  in  force 
—  to  try  and  terrify  the  country  people,  I  fancy." 

Like  a  flash  Barbara's  words  came  to  the  girl: 
"John  must  know  the  British  movements.  The 
country's  future  might  depend  upon  the  knowl- 
edge." She  commanded  ner  voice  to  obey  her 
will,  as  she  said  casually:  "We  shall  be  sorry  to 
lose  you,  Lieutenant  Charlton.  Whither  do 
you  march?" 

"That  is  not  known,  I  fancy,  save  to  Gage 
and  Percy.  There  are  many  varying  reports. 
In  fact,  only  the  higher  officers  know  that  there 
is  to  be  an  expedition  at  all." 

After  the  soldier  had  gone,  Constance  stood 
for  a  moment  in  deep  thought. 

"He  said  Gage  and  Percy  knew,"  she  mused. 
"  Percy  ?  No.  Gage  ?  Yes,  for  he  has  a  wife." 

She  lost  no  time  in  reaching  Province  House, 
where  she  was  fortunate  in  finding  sweet  Mis- 
tress Gage  at  home.  To  her  she  swiftly  told 
of  her  uncle's  mishap,  of  the  whereabouts  of 
Aunt  Tabitha,  and  of  her  own  determination 
to  set  out  that  very  afternoon  to  fetch  her. 

"Where  is  she,  do  you  say?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Gage,  thoughtfully. 

"At  Menotomy." 

"That  is  on  the  way  to  Concord,  is  it  not?" 

Constance  nodded. 

"Then,  child,"  was  the  solemn  reply,  "you 
must  send  another  to  bring  your  aunt  to  town." 

[1771 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Why,  I  cannot,  madame,"  cried  the  girl 
"She  is  in  ill  health,  and  - 

"  But  for  your  safety  and  hers  you  must  — 
Come  hither,  child.  Listen  to  me.  The  troops, 
in  great  numbers,  march  to-night  for  Concord. 
There  may  be — well,  scenes  no  woman  would  see." 

What  excuses  she  made  to  cut  short  her  visit 
Constance  never  knew.  She  only  realized  that 
the  news  she  sought  was  now  singing  in  her  brain, 
was  keeping  time  to  her  rapid  step,  was  filling 
her  whole  being  with  its  import.  She  would  give 
it  to  John  Brandon,  for  he  had  not  written  to  Han- 
nah Adams.  But  how  reach  him  ?  Arouse  Bar- 
bara and  send  her  off  post  haste  with  a  message  ? 

* '  No,  that  will  not  do, ' '  she  reasoned . '  *  He  would 
know  7  was  the  informant,  and  would  seek  my 
source  of  knowledge,  and  —  and  my  reason.  ' 

She  was  nearly  home,  when,  in  her  great  per- 
plexity, she  heard  a  whine  and  felt  something 
cold  against  her  hand,  then  something  warm. 
She  looked  down  to  find  the  great  liquid  eyes  of 
a  Newfoundland  dog  gazing  up  at  her. 

"Why,  Queue,"  she  exclaimed,  "have  they 
left  you  behind?  Good  dog!  Now  run  along 
home.  .  .  .  Nay,  Queue,  come  here  again.  Per- 
haps I  can  find  you  a  bit  of  meat." 

The  dog  trotted  gratefully  into  the  Romney 
mansion,  and  was  soon  regaling  himself  with  a 
choice  bone.  Constance,  meantime,  sat  down 
at  a  desk  to  write.  Then  came  the  thought  that 
this  plan  would  defeat  her  purpose.  Brandon 
would  know  her  writing.  But  what  to  do,  then  ? 

Aimlessly  looking  out  of  the  window,  she  saw 
[178] 


A  DISCOVERY  AND  A  MESSAGE 

Pompey  pottering  about  in  the  garden.  That 
dark  worthy  furnished  a  luminous  inspiration 
to  the  girl.  She  called  him  within. 

"Pompey,"  she  asked,  "can  you  write?" 

The  darky  grinned  with  immense  self-com- 
placency. 

"Yes,  Missy  Drake,"  he  answered,  "I  writes 
pretty  well  fer  a  no  'count  nigger." 

"Then  sit  at  that  table,"  was  the  girl's  com- 
mand, "and  take  this  quill." 

After  a  brief  and  feverish  search,  Constance 
found  a  sheet  of  paper  upon  which  her  friend 
had  scribbled  to  test  a  new  pen.  Tearing  it 
across,  she  left  one  signature  in  bold  letters: 
"Barbara  Brandon." 

"Write  above  this  what  I  tell  you,  Pompey," 
she  said. 

;<Yes,  missy;  all  ready,  missy,"  returned  the 
negro,  with  a  professional  clearing  of  his  throat, 
and  such  an  elaborate  flourish  of  the  quill  as 
threatened  to  daub  Councillor  Romney's  im- 
ported library  wall  paper  with  ink. 

"  The  British  —  B-r-i-t-i-s-h  —  have  you  got 
that?" 

'Yes,  Missy  Drake,  dat's  all  right,  I  'specs; 
on'y  ef  yo'd  please  not  purceed  with  quite  such 
incessible  speed,  de  writin'  might  be  mo'  like 
dat  of  de  quality." 

"Very  well,"  smiled  Constance.  "Now  con- 
tinue: march  to-night  for  Concord." 

"De  debble  dey  do!"  exclaimed  the  darky, 
his  eyes  rolling  with  excitement.  "Why,  dat 
ar  s  ~"— • 

[179] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Oh,  Pompey,  Pompey,"  exclaimed  the  girl, 
in  mock  dismay,  "can't  you  understand  that  I 
am  merely  testing  your  ability  to  write,  and  that 
I  gave  you  the  first  thing  that  popped  into  my 
head?  What  a  stupid!" 

"Scuse  me,  Missy  Drake,  'scuse  me,"  re- 
turned the  abashed  Pompey.  "Co'se  I  know'd 
'twere  on'y  a  make-believe,  but  it  did  sound  so 
kinder  belligerous  dat  I  — " 

"All  right,  Pompey;  you  have  done  well. 
You  may  go  now." 

And  now  to  send  the  message. 

With  a  swift  and  strong  movement  the  girl 
wrenched  a  book  from  its  covers  and  slipped  the 
paper  between  them.  Then  she  tied  all  with 
thread  and  called  Samuel  Adams'  dog  to  her 
side.  She  fondled  his  fine  head  for  a  moment, 
and  fastened  the  packet  to  his  collar.  Then 
Queue  was  most  inhospitably  and  unceremo- 
niously turned  out  of  doors. 

"Home,  Queue!"  commanded  Constance. 

Queue  looked  dubious.  Thoughts  of  bones 
doubtless  held  strong  place  in  his  canine  brain. 

"Home,  sir!"  said  the  girl,  stamping  her  foot. 
"  Good  Queue,  handsome  Queue,  the  safety  of  a 
people  depends  upon  you.  Straight  home,  now, 
and  don't  stop  till  you  get  there!  ' 

The  dog  wagged  his  tail  and  started  off  at  a 
heavy,  deliberate  trot.  Constance  followed  him 
with  anxious  eyes,  but  was  relieved  to  see  that 
when  he  reached  the  end  of  the  street  he  took 
the  right  turn. 

[180] 


CHAPTER  XXI 
A  Horse  and  Its  Rider 

/CONSTANCE'S  reproaches  that  she  had 
V_><  left  her  uncle  so  long  unattended  were 
short-lived  when  she  returned  to  his  room  and 
found  him  sleeping  peacefully.  She  sat  down 
by  his  bed,  and  was  surprised  to  find  herself 
almost  trembling.  She  seemed  to  be  a  part  of 
some  great  and  mysterious  stroke  of  fate  whose 
coming  would  cast  a  chill  over  life.  Then  she 
tried  to  reassure  herself. 

"Pshaw!"  she  almost  spoke,  "what  did  I  do, 
after  all,  but  try  and  tell  John  Brandon  some- 
thing he  wished  to  know  ?  'Tis  dubious  whether 
he  even  gets  the  message." 

She  wished  she  had  employed  some  more  cer- 
tain messenger  than  poor  Queue,  and  tried  to 
picture  to  herself  the  result  should  the  faithful 
dog  forget.  But  in  came  bustling  Dr.  Gair,  who, 
of  course,  woke  the  Councillor,  and  then  ban- 
ished the  girl  from  the  sick-room.  He  had  a  bit 
of  news,  also. 

'You'll  find  Earl  Percy  in  the  drawing-room," 
he  said.  "I  told  him  of  your  Uncle  Giles'  mis- 
fortune and  he  came  along  to  present  his  regrets 
in  person." 

Constance  went  down,  followed  shortly  by  the 

[1811 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

surgeon.  Percy,  she  thought,  gave  evidence  of 
a  nervousness  she  had  not  seen  in  him  before, 
and  both  were  relieved  when  Dr.  Gair  ap- 
peared. 

'Your  uncle  is  awake,  and  in  less  pain,"  said 
he,  "but  his  nerves  are  playing  at  skillets  with 
him,  Connie.  His  wife  must  be  sent  for  —  he 
worries  about  her." 

"The  coach  should  be  ready  within  a  half 
hour,"  replied  Constance.  "  Then  I  shall  start." 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Romney?"  asked  the  Earl. 

''At  my  uncle's  country  house  at  Menotomy, 
my  Lord." 

Percy's  handsome  face  clouded.  Had  he 
been  less  a  soldier,  one  would  have  called  his 
look  that  of  apprehension. 

"Cannot  some  other  be  sent?"  he  asked, 
turning  to  the  little  doctor. 

"My  aunt  is  none  too  well,"  declared  the  girl. 
"This  news  must  be  given  gently.  I  only  can 
do  it." 

At  that  Dr.  Gair  burst  out  in  wrath :  "  What 
in  the  name  of  common  prudence  prompted 
Giles  Romney  to  go  out  into  the  country  these 
troublous  times  ?" 

"  My  aunt's  health,  sir.  And  besides,  he  said 
his  property  here  is  safe,  while  that  at  Me- 
notomy - 

"How  in  conscience's  name  did  he  expect  to 
protect  it  —  a  lame  man  and  two  women!" 

"  Oh,  he  has  no  fear  of  the  —  the  rebels." 

The  word  had  to  be  forced  through  Constance's 
teeth  as  if  its  utterance  hurt.  Another  curious 

[182] 


A  HORSE  AND  ITS  RIDER 

manifestation,  she  thought,  of  a  day  of  mental 
extremes. 

"No?"  queried  the  Earl,  in  mild  surprise. 
"Why,  I  should  think  - 

"You  see,  my  Lord,"  explained  Gair,  "he  was 
widely  known  and  immensely  respected  through- 
out the  province,  and  his  political  views  are  re- 
garded as  honest  devotion  to  principle." 

"Would  as  much  could  be  said  for  all  who 
side  with  the  King,"  replied  Percy  fervently. 

"And  then,"  continued  Mistress  Drake,  with 
something  of  her  more  customary  spirit  of  per- 
versity, "uncle  fears  for  his  country  house  rather 
because  of  the  wearers  of  the  red  than  of  — 
of- 

Percy  smiled  at  her  embarrassment,  which, 
he  well  understood,  was  because  she  feared  to 
be  thought  discourteous  to  a  guest.  The  smile, 
perhaps,  made  matters  no  better. 

"You  —  you  see,"  she  blurted,  "the  soldiers 
would  not  know  to  whom  the  property  belonged." 

"And  might  not  respect  it  an'  they  did," 
muttered  the  Earl. 

"I  suppose  there's  no  help  for  it,  Mistress 
Drake,"  sighed  Dr.  Gair.  'You  must  go." 

"I  do  not  suppose  it  would  do  to  send  her 
under  armed  escort?"  suggested  Percy. 

"That  would  but  provoke  trouble,"  replied 
the  surgeon.  "No,  the  girl's  plan  is  the  best." 

Constance  straightened  proudly.  This  talk  of 
danger  and  guards  and  her  own  inferred  help- 
lessness angered  her  not  a  little.  It  was  time 
to  put  a  stop  to  such  nonsense, 

[183] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"I  need  no  escort,  thank  you,"  she  said 
soberly.  "I  know  the  way  —  and  the  trouble." 

"I  may  still  be  of  service,"  persisted  the  sol- 
dier. "At  any  moment  orders  from  headquar- 
ters may  close  all  egress  by  the  road  from  town. 
I  can  at  least  write  you  a  pass.  May  I  sit  here  ?  " 

He  took  a  quill  and  began  to  write  on  a  large 
sheet  of  paper. 

"Who  accompanies  you?"  he  asked,  raising 
his  head.  "  But  'tis  of  no  matter.  .  .  .  There, 
this  will  do.  Read  it,  doctor;  you  know  my 
eyes  scarcely  permit  me  to  read  a  word  I  write.  ' 

Dr.  Gair  read  the  heavy,  scrawling  writing 
without  more  ado: 

April  18,  1775. 

All  officers  and  sentries  will  pass  Mistress  Constance 
Drake  and  her  party  through  all  lines  and  outposts. 

HUGH  PERCY, 
Acting  Brigadier-General. 

"And  now,  Mistress  Drake,"  said  the  gallant 
commander,  "having  done  you  what  little  as- 
sistance I  can,  I  will  take  my  leave.  My  duty 
to  your  uncle,  and  tell  him  I  trust  we  shall  soon 
meet  under  better  auspices." 

Little  time  had  Constance  to  reflect  on  the 
possible  result  of  this  visit,  for  the  clatter  of 
horses'  hoofs  and  a  creaking  rumble  that  was 
not  wholly  reassuring  announced  that  Pompey 
had  driven  up  to  the  gate  with  the  mended  coach. 
She  quickly  took  leave  of  Barbara,  who  was  in- 
clined to  be  hysterically  mournful  at  the  new 
departure,  but  who  was  speedily  suppressed  by 

[184] 


A  HORSE  AND  ITS  RIDER 

orders  to  tend  Giles  Romney  well  and  not  to 
make  a  fool  of  herself. 

"One  would  think,"  cried  Constance  gaily, 
"that  I  was  going  to  the  East  Indies,  instead  of  a 
few  miles  into  tlie  country  to  bring  an  elderly 
lady,  a  couple  of  servants,  and  some  hat-boxes 
into  this  solemn  old  town." 

Outside,  she  found  Pompey  grumbling  at  the 
manner  in  which  Peleg  Perkins  had  repaired 
the  coach. 

"He  done  said  he  couldn't  do  no  better  in  de 
short  length  ob  time  he  had  'warded  to  him," 
the  negro  exclaimed.  "But  I  dunno,  Missy 
Drake,  I  dunno." 

:*  Well,  Pompey,  you  must  drive  carefully,  and 
that's  all  about  it,"  was  the  severe  reply. 

"Deed  I  will,  then,  missy.  I'll  dribe  mo* 
carefuller  dan  Phurraoh's  chariteers  when  dey 
got  inter  de  Black  Sea.  Yo'  kin  'pend  on  me." 

As  the  equipage  moved  slowly  along  on  its 
way  to  the  Roxbury  road,  Constance's  quick- 
ened perceptions  noted  something  sinister  in  the 
military  activity  apparent  on  the  part  of  the 
British.  There  was  a  deal  of  marching  and 
forming  of  the  soldiers  on  the  Common,  but  it 
took  place  in  silence.  With  the  knowledge  of 
coming  movements  deep  in  her  heart,  the  girl 
saw  the  reason  for  the  lack  of  the  usual  osten- 
tation. What  this  quiet  preparation  might 
bring  forth  she  would  not,  dared  not,  conjecture. 
She  could  only  hope  to  reach  her  aunt  in  safety, 
and  trust  the  rest  to  fate. 

Out  beyond  the  Neck  and  well  along,  with  a 

[185] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

swing  to  the  right  in  order  to  cross  the  bridge 
that  led  to  Cambridge,  dusk  came  swiftly  down 
upon  the  coach  and  its  lone  passenger.  Even 
here  there  was  something  in  the  very  air,  she 
thought,  that  foretold  a  storm,  not  of  nature, 
for  the  evening  was  clear  and  fine,  but  of  human 
emotions  and  the  passions  evoked  by  arms. 
And  as  if  to  accentuate  the  process  of  her  re- 
flections, the  rapid  hoof-beats  of  a  horse  were 
heard  behind,  singing  their  song  of  energy  and 
haste. 

With  mechanical  curiosity  she  glanced  from 
the  coach  window  as  the  horseman  passed  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  figure  of  John  Brandon 
bowed  low  over  the  neck  of  his  steed. 

"Could  he  have  had  my  message?"  she  won- 
dered. "  If  so,  why  is  he  thus  late  ?" 

Her  mood  of  restless  anxiety  was  intensified 
by  the  frequent  halting  of  the  horses  by  Pompey, 
and  the  negro's  careful  inspection  of  the  coach. 
If  only  the  wretched  vehicle  could  be  made  to 
keep  its  strength  for  two  hours  more ! 

On  they  went,  however,  in  safety,  over  the 
bridge  and  into  Cambridge,  past  the  brick 
buildings  of  the  college,  whose  twinkling  lights 
cheered  the  girl  by  their  unconcerned  serenity, 
and  so  out  upon  the  road  to  Menotomy. 

But  not  far  from  the  village  a  groaning  from 
under  the  coach  body  brought  Pompey  to  the 
ground  again. 

"Fse  'feared  ob  dis  yer  contraption,  Missy 
Drake,"  he  grieved,  "  'deed  I  is.  I  doan'  'spec* 


A  HORSE  AND  ITS  RIDER 

it'll  last  more'n  .  .  .  Good  lawdy,  gemmens!  what 
yo'  want?" 

His  frightened  question  was  directed  toward  a 
party  of  British  officers  who  had  ridden  slowly 
toward  them  and  now  blocked  the  way. 

It  was  Capt.  Jack  Mowatt's  voice  that  re- 
plied, showing  ill-temper  in  its  tone,  and  insolent 
brusqueness  in  its  command. 

"Here,  nigger,"  he  said,  "just  you  turn  those 
horses  of  yours  and  drive  back  where  you  came 
from.  There's  to  be  no  traveling  this  night, 
d'ye  hear?" 

At  that  Constance  opened  the  coach  door. 
"Why  are  you  stopping  us,  may  I  ask?"  she 
exclaimed,  haughtily. 

Mowatt  bowed  with  ceremonial  sarcasm. 
He  hated  this  girl  who  had  twice  flouted  him, 
and  yet  —  and  yet  she  was  very  fair  and  very 
desirable.  A  new  plan  suggested  itself. 

"Orders  have  been  issued  to  permit  no  pass- 
ing on  these  roads  to-night,  mistress,"  he  re- 
plied. "But  have  no  fear.  I'll  take  you  back 
to  Boston.  Your  blackamoor  shall  ride  one  of 
his  horses  and  lead  the  other.  The  coach  we 
will  roll  into  the  ditch." 

"And  I?" 

"Oh,  you,  my  lady?"  he  returned,  coolly, 
"  you  shall  ride  in  front  of  me  on  my  good  horse." 

"But  I  cannot,"  protested  the  girl,  warmly, 
"I  must  go  on.  There  are  reasons." 

"Very  possibly,  but  our  orders  are  strict,  and 
there  are  no  exceptions  in  favor  of  beautiful 

[187] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

damsels  in  distress.  .  .  .     Come,  nigger,  unhitch 
those  horses,  or,  egad,  I'll  spit  you  in  a  jiffy!" 

Then  a  glorious  recollection  burst  upon  Con- 
stance's mind,  as  it  had  been  the  sun  in  the  dark 
skies. 

"But  I  have  a  pass!"  she  cried  triumphantly. 

"The  lady  says  she  has  a  pass,  Mowatt,"  said 
another  voice,  which  Constance  knew  at  once 
for  that  of  Charlton. 

"Let  her  show  it,  then,"  growled  Mowatt, 
angry  at  the  interference. 

'  I  will  as,  soon  as  I  can  find  it,"  said  the  girl, 
sweetly. 

The  lieutenant  came  forward  as  he  recognized 
Mistress  Drake,  and  apologized  for  the  blockade. 

"Oh!"  cried  Constance,  with  a  sudden  em- 
phasis that  made  him  start. 

"  Why,  what  -    "  he  began. 

"I  know  where  the  pass  is.  Please  turn  your 
head." 

And  having  produced  the  paper  from  whence 
it  were  ungallant  to  inquire,  sne  gave  it  to  Charl- 
ton with  a  fine  flourish. 

"Quite  regular,"  said  the  soldier,  as  he  slowly 
read  it  in  the  uncertain  light,  and  Mowatt,  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder,  was  forced  to  conclude, 
with  anger  and  disgust,  that  his  game  was  up. 

"I'll  make  some  rebel  sweat  for  this,"  was  his 
charitable  thought,  as  he  galloped  away. 

Charlton  lingered  to  offer  such  services  as  his 
duty  would  permit. 

"Pray  do  not  distress  yourself  about  me, 
Lieutenant  Charlton,"  replied  Constance  wick- 

[188] 


A  HORSE  AND  ITS  RIDER 

edly,  "the  only  trouble  to  me  are  the  men  who 
wear  your  uniform.  Good-night." 

So  Charlton  rode  away  in  chagrin  to  turn  at  a 
cross-road  a  bit  farther,  and  the  coach  lumbered 
once  more  into  action  with  a  much  happier  Pom- 
pey  on  the  box.  Visions  of  hanging,  drawing, 
and  quartering  had  been  his  during  the  parley, 
and  now  he  could  have  sung  for  joy. 

Perhaps  Pompey's  animation  affected  the 
quality  of  his  driving,  or  perchance  good  Peleg 
Perkins*  excitement  over  the  activity  of  the  sol- 
diers in  town  had  had  a  malign  influence  upon 
his  ability  as  a  repairer.  Whatever  the  cause, 
just  as  the  little  village  of  Menotomy  was  reached, 
and  there  remained  but  two  miles  farther  of  the 
journey  to  Giles  Romney's,  the  miserable  equi- 
page swayed,  sagged,  lurched,  and  came  to  an 
ignominious  halt,  its  fore  axle  broken  short  off. 

Constance  scrambled  out  with  marvelous 
alacrity,  and  gazed  first  at  the  wreck  and  then 
at  the  surroundings. 

"Now,  what  are  we  to  do,  Pompey?"  she 
cried,  almost  in  tears  with  vexation. 

"Well,  missy,  dar's  ole  Marse  Wetherby's 
tarvern  jess  ahead  on  yo'  right.  'Spec'  yo'  kin 
git  lodgin'  dar  fer  ternight." 

The  girl  looked  at  the  large,  square  building 
pointed  out  by  Pompey.  It  was  well  lighted, 
and  sounds  of  cheer  came  from  its  windows. 
All  at  once  a  door  opened,  and  a  blaze  of  red- 
coated  humanity  showed  clear  in  the  mellow 
radiance  of  the  tap-room.  Even  at  her  distance, 

[189] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Constance  retreated  involuntarily  with  a  thrill 
of  unnamed  dread. 

"Ah,  no,"  she  murmured,  "anywhere  but 
there!  .  .  .  Let  me  think.  .  .  .  Why,  yes,  we  are 
very  near  the  home  of  my  old  nurse,  Martha 
Winship.  She  and  her  goodman,  Jonathan, 
will  gladly  give  me  shelter.  Do  you,  Pompey, 
try  to  get  the  horses  to  drag  that  plaguey  coach 
to  their  door-yard,  and  I  will  walk  along  beside 
you." 

It  was  a  hard  task,  but  by  dint  of  much  en- 
couragement on  the  part  of  Constance  herself, 
the  horses  managed  to  drag  the  scraping,  bump- 
ing vehicle  along  the  road  and  up  to  the  great 
elms  in  front  01  the  Winship  house,  a  quaint 
little  pitch-roofed,  moss-grown  structure,  a  cen- 
tury old  even  then. 

Pompey  and  the  girl  had  nearly  reached  the 
door  when  they  were  startled  by  a  riderless 
horse  galloping  madly  by  in  the  direction  whence 
they  had  come.  A  great  fear  clutched  at  Con- 
stance's heart,  a  fear  she  struggled  to  deny,  but 
which  was  intensified  by  Pompey's  excited  cry: 

"Fo'  de  Lord,  dat  ar's  Marse  Brandon's  hoss, 
Missy  Drake.  What  kin  er  happened?" 

"Mr.  Brandon's?     Impossible!" 

"Deed  'tis,  chile;  I  knows  dat  hoss  like  er 
brother.  He  us'ter  b'long  ter  Marse  Hancock, 
but  Marse  Brandon's  been  a'ridin'  him." 

There  was  but  one  hope,  and  that  was  that 
Constance  might  have  been  mistaken,  and  that 
it  was  not  Brandon  who  passed  the  coach  an 
hour  ago.  She  would  put  it  to  the  test. 

[190] 


A  HORSE  AND  ITS  RIDER 

"  But  how  is  it,  Pompey,  that  his  horse  is  way 
out  here?"  she  asked. 

"He  done  pass  us  galloping  back  in  de  road, 
Missy  Drake.  .  .  .  Why,  whateber's  de  matter  ?" 

Constance  reeled  and  would  have  gone  prone 
upon  the  ground,  had  not  the  negro  caught  her 
in  his  strong  arms  and  carried  her  to  the 
Winships'  door,  which  was  partly  open,  and 
into  a  tiny  hall  dimly  lighted  by  a  single  tallow 
dip  on  a  little  deal  table. 

The  good  Mistress  Winship  lost  no  time  in 
coming  to  investigate  the  strange  footsteps  in 
her  house.  As  she  held  up  the  candle  and  saw 
Mistress  Drake  leaning  upon  the  burly  figure 
of  an  elaborately  decorated  negro,  she  threw  up 
her  free  hand  in  amazement. 

"Why,  'tis  Mistress  Constance,"  she  quavered, 
"and  I  do  declare  she's  fainted!" 

The  girl  opened  her  eyes  slowly  as  the  last 
word  forced  itself  into  her  returning  conscious- 
ness. She  smiled  almost  pathetically  at  her 
old  nurse. 

"  Fainted  ?  I  ?  "  she  said.  "  That  would  be  a 
silly  thing  to  do." 


[m] 


CHAPTER  XXII 
The  Face  on  the  Pillow 

AFTER  Mistress  Drake  had  been  provided 
with  a  cup  of  something  that  was  very  like 
genuine  Bohea,  and  a  dainty  or  two,  which  she 
tried  to  eat  to  please  her  old  nurse,  and  had  gone 
to  the  snug  room  allotted  her,  quiet  spread  its 
wings  once  more  over  the  Winship  household. 
The  old  couple  settled  down  in  their  sitting-room, 
Martha  knitting  a  pair  of  thick  woolen  stockings 
against  next  winter's  cold,  and  Jonathan  trying 
to  read  his  well-thumbed  copy  of  "Pilgrim's 
Progress." 

But  the  head  of  the  house  found  little  of  the 
usual  fascination  in  the  adventures  of  Mr.  Great- 
heart  and  others  of  the  Bunyan  worthies,  for 
every  now  and  then  he  would  lay  down  the  book, 

go  to  the  window,  and  peer  out  silently.     Finally, 
e  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  soon  the  soft  swish- 
ing of  a  rather  unusual  sound  reached  the  alert 
ear  of  his  wife. 

"What  on  airth  are  you  a-doin',  Jonathan?" 
she  asked,  although  she  could  see  perfectly  well. 
"Jest  polishing  up  my  gun  a  bit." 
"Mercy  me!  haint  ye  got  that  gun  cleaned 

yet?" 

"Yes,  but  'tis  a  duty  to  keep  it  clean." 


THE  FACE  ON  THE  PILLOW 

At  last,  when  there  could  be  no  more  pretense 
that  the  gun  needed  any  further  ministrations, 
Jonathan  lifted  it  toward  its  accustomed  hooks 
on  the  wall,  where  also  hung  his  cow-horn  pow- 
der-flask, that  shone  almost  like  mother-of-pearl 
from  the  use  of  years. 

"No,  I  won't  nuther,"  lowering  the  weapon, 
and  blowing  carefully  down  its  muzzle.  And 
with  that  emphatic  expression  of  his  convictions 
and  expectations,  he  strode  into  the  front  room 
and  stood  the  gun  in  a  corner  —  the  corner  near- 
est the  door.  Then  he  sat  down  to  read,  but 
again  he  felt  that  irresistible  call  to  the  window. 

"  Whatever  is  the  matter  ?  "  exclaimed  Martha, 
peering  at  her  husband  curiously.  "You  haint 
worrying  'bout  'Zekiel." 

"No,  not  exactly,  but  I  am  anxious  for 
brother's  news." 

"  Mebbe  there  ain't  none,"  suggested  the  wife. 

Jonathan  quit  his  restless  pacing  and  looked 
Martha  squarely  in  the  face. 

"  I  know  there  is  -  'he  replied  solemnly, 
"  or  will  be  —  great  news." 

'  To-night?" 

'Yes.  I  feel  it  somehow.  .  .  .  Hush  —  what 
was  that?" 

"I  didn't  hear  anything." 

"There  it  is  again.  There's  someone  outside 
that  door." 

"  Prob'ly  the  calf's  got  loose  again,"  observed 
Martha,  with  real  concern  now. 

"A  calf  don't  knock  at  doors,"  was  the  scorn- 
ful reply.  "There.  .  .  .  D'ye  hear?" 

[193] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Aye,"  whispered  the  old  woman,  "a  knock, 
of  a  truth,  and  yet  a  most  peculiar  one.  .  .  .  Come 
in;  come  in." 

Jonathan  reached  the  door  with  a  few  strides, 
and  flung  it  wide  open.  There,  leaning  on  the 
door-post,  was  the  swaying  figure  of  a  young 
man,  his  hat  gone,  and  his  clothes  in  dire  confusion . 

"  Well,"  said  the  farmer,  "what  is  it,  friend?" 

The  figure  tried  pitifully  to  straighten  itself, 
and  a  face  ghastly  pale  in  the  uncertain  light 
was  turned  toward  the  good  man.  Then  a 
hoarse,  broken  voice  attempted  to  answer. 

"  Can  I  —  In  God's  name,  man,  aid  me  to 
a  horse!" 

"A  hoss?  Well,  neaow,  ye  might  hire  one  at 
the  tavern  jest  below." 

"Which  —  which  way?"  stammered  the 
strange  visitor. 

He  turned  toward  the  darkness  of  the  road, 
but  staggered  and  fell  across  the  doorstep. 

"Is  he  drunk,  think  ye?"  asked  Martha. 

"Drunk,  no,  mother,"  replied  Jonathan,  test- 
ily, "he's  been  injured,  and  his  clothes  are  cov- 
ered with  mud.  Been  thrown  from  his  hoss,  I 
reckon.  I'll  bring  him  in." 

Lifting  the  well-knit  frame  from  the  stones, 
old  Winship  carried  his  inert  burden  within 
and  laid  it  gently  on  a  bed  in  an  inner  room. 
Then,  indeed,  did  Martha  justify  her  fame  as  a 
nurse.  With  many  an  exclamation  of  sympathy 
she  bustled  about,  bringing  bandages  and  oint- 
ment, washed  the  blood  from  his  forehead  and 

[194] 


THE  FACE  ON  THE  PILLOW 

dressed  the  ugly  cut  there  with  all  of  a  mother's 
tenderness. 

"It  seems  as  if  his  face  had  a  familiar  look, 
but  I  can't  remember,"  she  muttered,  as  she 
went  to  the  kitchen  to  brew  a  wonderful  herb 
tea  that  was  never  known  to  fail  to  promote  rest 
and  sleep. 

After  a  little  the  young  man  revived  suffi- 
ciently to  try  to  raise  himself  from  the  bed.  The 
watchful  old  man  held  him  back. 

"Take  off  your  hands,"  cried  the  patient, 
weakly.  "Don't  dare  stop  a  messenger  of  the 
people!" 

"Do  be  quiet,  young  man,"  expostulated 
Jonathan.  "You  are  not  fit  - 

"  I  tell  you,  they'll  be  butchered  in  their  beds 
if  I  fail  them.  Let  me  go,  I  say."  And  again 
he  struggled  until  his  weakness  overcame  nim 
once  more,  and  he  fell  back  exhausted  and  silent. 
In  this  state  he  was  induced  to  drink  the  potion, 
and  after  a  brief  period  of  incoherent  rambling, 
in  which  he  babbled  of  Barbara,  the  dog,  the 
letter,  Hancock  and  Adams,  and  the  British  sol- 
diers, he  sank  away  into  a  stupor. 

"He  evidently  rode  on  patriotic  service,"  said 
the  wife,  as  she  put  out  the  kitchen  candle  and 
prepared  for  rest. 

^Likely." 

"  Please  God  the  work  he  was  to  do  may  find 
one  to  do  it." 

"Amen!"  was  the  hearty  response. 

"Now,  Jonathan,  let's  to  bed.  We've  had 
enough  turmoil  for  one  evening." 

[195] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Nay,  Martha,  I  must  remain  up  for 'Zekiel." 

"Well,  then,  keep  your  clothes  on,  but  for 
mercy's  sake  lie  down  on  the  bed.  You're  not 
so  young  as  you  were  once,  remember." 

"Perchance  not,"  replied  the  stalwart  old 
fellow  with  a  grim  smile,  "but  just  as  strong, 
and  just  as  ready  for  —  for  whatever  happens. 
However,  I'll  as  you  say." 

Then  for  a  time  peace  ruled  in  the  little  abode 
of  the  Winships,  now  the  custodian  of  more 
varied  lives  than  it  had  held  under  its  roof  for 
many  years. 

"What's  that?"  whispered  Martha,  rousing 
catlike  at  the  sound  of  an  opening  door  and  the 
heavy  tread  of  feet  in  the  hall. 

"What's  that?"  she  said  again,  louder. 

Jonathan  heard  this  time,  and  jumped,  full 
panoplied  as  he  was,  to  the  floor.  In  another 
instant  he  was  in  the  hall,  to  find  his  brother 
Ezekiel,  his  long  hair  streaming  about  his  face, 
and  a  gun  in  his  hands,  panting  as  if  from  some 
tremendous  exertion.  Jonathan  clutched  the 
newcomer  by  the  arms,  and  pushed  him  to  the 
doorway  where  the  moonlight  could  reveal  his 
face. 

"  Well,  'Zekiel  ?"  he  demanded,  almost  harshly. 

"The  British  regulars  are  marching,  Jon- 
athan!" 

"For  where?" 

"  Concord  and  the  army  stores,  'tis  said." 

"They  may  surprise  Adams  and  Hancock 
and  the  committee.  ' 

[196] 


THE  FACE  ON  THE  PILLOW 

"Surprise?"  was  the  exultant  answer.  "The 
surprise  boot'll  be  on  t'other  leg.  Within  an 
hour  the  country  for  miles  round  will  be  awake. 
Come!" 

Without  a  word,  Jonathan  went  and  fetched 
his  gun  from  its  corner.  Then  he  came  to  the 
doorway  again,  and  the  two  brothers  clasped 
hands  like  men  swearing  some  great  silent  oath. 
Thus  Martha  found  them. 

"Well,  what's  to  do  now?"  she  inquired, 
rather  peevishly.  "Can't  we  even  sleep  o' 
nights  ?'S 

'Not  when  our  liberty  is  threatened,  wife," 
replied  Jonathan,  gravely. 

"  Will  one  of  you  explain  —  if  'tis  not  a  rid- 
dle?" 

'The  British  are  marching!" 

The  good  woman  raised  both  hands  heaven- 
ward. "  How  do  you  know  ?"  she  asked  breath- 
lessly. 

"Everybody  knows,"  replied  Ezekiel,  with 
immense  conviction.  "They  say  Paul  Revere 
brought  the  news  to  Rev.  Mr.  Clark's  house." 

"Where  Samuel  Adams  and  the  committee 
lie,"  explained  Jonathan. 

"Hark,"  said  Ezekiel,  craning  his  head  out  of 
doors,  "wasn't  that  a  church  bell?" 

"A  church  bell  at  this  time  o'  night!"  pro- 
tested Martha. 

"I  thought  I  heard  it  —  listen.  There  it  is 
again." 

"Nay,  brother,  I  hear  nothing,"  said  Jon- 
athan. "  But  come,  let's  be  off." 

[197] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Mistress  Winship  would  hear  none  of  it.  She 
was  a  lover  of  liberty,  but  practical  withal. 

"Goin'  off  at  this  time  o'  night  with  nothin' 
in  your  gullets,"  she  said  severely.  'You,  at 
least,  Jonathan  Winship,  shan't  do  it,  no  matter 
what  your  harum-scarum  brother  says.  A  pretty 
Patriot  you'd  be  on  an  empty  stomach." 

This  argument,  being  addressed  to  two  men 
whose  supper  hour  had  long  passed,  was  suffi- 
ciently potent,  and  Martha's  brown-crust  coffee 
and  corpulent  doughnuts  went  the  way  of  all 
acceptable  drink  and  food.  Then  the  brothers 
lit  their  pipes  for  a  smoke  before  going  forth. 
They  puffed  away  meditatively  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, when  Jonathan  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet 
and  held  one  hand,  cup-like,  behind  his  best  ear. 

"I  knew  ye'd  be  hearin'  somethin'  soon," 
saidEzekiel.  " Is  it  bells?" 

"No,  listen." 

"Ah  ...  I  hear  it.  .  .  It's  men!  " 

"Moving  men,"  returned  Jonathan,  with  a 
thrill  of  ill-suppressed  excitement  in  his  voice. 
And  then  witn  stern  command:  "Put  out  that 
light." 

Then  darkness,  save  for  the  fitful  rays  of  the 
moon  flickering  through  the  branches  of  the 
elms. 

Now  the  sound  was  heavier  and  more  monot- 
onous —  the  steady  tramp,  tramp,  tramp  of 
trained  soldiers,  mingled  with  the  clattering  of 
the  hoofs  of  an  occasional  horse.  The  men 
crept  to  the  front  windows  and  looked  out. 

In  regular  rows  the  red-coated  men  swept  by, 

[198] 


THE  FACE  ON  THE  PILLOW 

silent,  almost  stealthy,  as  if  on  some  inglorious 
errand.  No  music  kept  tune  to  the  clock-like 
mechanism  of  their  feet,  no  loud  commands 
were  given,  no  waving  banners  flaunted  on  the 
night  oreeze. 

All  at  once  a  column  halted  and  a  detachment 
made  its  way  to  the  door  of  the  Wetherby  tavern. 
Whatever  this  move,  it  seemed  fruitless,  for  in  a 
little  while  the  soldiers  moved  on  again  with 
their  measured  steps  toward  Lexington. 

As  soon  as  the  last  file  of  the  British  had  van- 
ished around  a  curve  in  the  road,  the  brothers 
took  up  their  flintlocks  and  left  the  house. 

Martha  picked  up  her  knitting  again,  and 
tried  to  go  on  from  the  point  at  which  she  had 
ceased  so  abruptly  not  long  before.  But  she 
could  not  work.  Floating  from  many  directions 
now  came  the  nervous  ringing  of  church  bells, 
borne  on  a  changing  wind;  the  sound  of  horns, 
too,  came  to  her  ears,  the  shouts  of  men  and  the 
pounding  of  hoofs  along  the  road.  Lights 
passed  to  and  fro  in  the  tavern,  and  loud  voices 
came  from  its  open  doors.  And  amid  all  these 
voices,  hitherto  unknown  to  the  dawn,  came  the 
crowing  of  cocks,  unconcerned  ushers  of  a  new 
day,  and  the  barking  of  dogs,  conscious  that 
something  was  wrong  with  the  world. 

"  Lord  ha'  mercy  on  us  all,"  cried  old  Martha, 
fervently,  "  and  especially  on  them  that—  Why, 
Connie,  how  you  scart  me!" 

The  girl  stood  in  the  doorway,  pale  and  wan, 
a  sad  picture  even  in  her  beauty,  She  did  not 
speak. 

[199] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"I  was  afeared  you'd  be  disturbed,  dearie," 
went  on  the  nurse,  gently. 

"What  is  it?" 

"The  British  soldiers  have  marched!" 

"  Ah !     It  was  true,  then  ?  " 

"What  was  true,  girl?" 

"  Something  I  heard  —  that's  all.  Do  they 
march  for  Concord?" 

"So  they  say." 

"A  plan  to  teach  respect  for  the  King,  may- 
hap." 

'And  to  trap  Samuel  Adams  and  the  others." 

;*  That  will  fail,"  declared  Constance  proudly. 

"I  pray  so,  surely.  Paul  Revere  came  from 
Boston  to  warn  them.  He's  a  master  rider, 
they  say." 

And  then  nothing  would  do  but  that  the  girl 
must  have  some  of  the  rural  refreshment  with 
which  Martha's  men-folks  had  just  been  re- 
galed. She  ate  and  drank  more  from  regard 
for  the  good  old  nurse  than  from  hunger.  Truth 
to  tell,  she  was  more  concerned  about  her  per- 
sonal appearance  than  about  her  appetite. 

"What  a  fright!"  she  exclaimed,  catching 
sight  of  the  really  bewitching  confusion  of  her 
bronze  hair.  "  I  must  have  a  comb  at  once.  Nay, 
Martha,  you're  busy;  I'll  get  it  myself,  if  you 
but  tell  me." 

"Go  right  to  my  room,"  called  out  the  old 
woman  from  her  pots  and  kettles ;  "  you'll  find  it 
atop  of  the  chest  of  drawers." 

Constance  ran  into  the  hall  and  grasped  the 

[200] 


THE  FACE  ON  THE  PILLOW 

latch  of  the  first  door  she  saw.     Another  in- 
stant— 

But  the  solicitous  Martha  saw  the  girl  from 
the  kitchen. 

"Nay,  not  that  door,  child,"  she  cried,  "the 
next  to  it." 

While  Mistress  Drake  was  combing  the  fra- 
grant tangles  of  her  hair,  Martha  told  of  the 
wounded  man.  Oh,  he  was  that  young  and 
handsome,  and  so  sad-like  in  expression!  Con- 
stance's sympathies  leaped  up  irom  her  warm 
heart  at  the  picture,  and  she  was  all  for  going 
to  his  room  at  once  to  see  if  something  could  not 
be  done  to  help  the  patient.  In  fact,  her  im- 
petuosity had  led  her  again  to  the  door-latch, 
and  this  time  her  fingers  nad  lifted  it. 

"I  wouldn't  if  I  were  you,  Miss  Connie," 
urged  her  nurse;  " sleep  is  his  best  cure.  By  and 
by  a  sight  of  your  pretty  face  will  do  him  good, 
but  let  him  rest  now." 

Reluctantly  the  girl  turned  away,  and  soon 
after  the  two,  weaned  by  their  vigil,  lay  down 
in  Mistress  Winship's  room  and  slept. 

It  was  in  the  broad  daylight  of  a  warm  and 
exquisitely  beautiful  morning  when  they  were 
roused  by  the  return  of  Jonathan,  almost  burst- 
ing with  excitement  and  eager  to  tell  of  the  tre- 
mendous events  of  which  he  had  heard  and  a 
part  of  which  he  had  seen.  The  women  listened 
intently  enough,  and  one  of  them,  who  had  never 
known  warfare  in  the  land,  felt  her  very  heart 
dilate  and  her  pulses  throb  at  the  simple  story 
of  the  old  man. 

[*oi] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"The  minute-men  of  Lexington,"  he  said, 
"had  certain  news  of  the  approach  of  the  red- 
coats at  half-past  four,  although  Revere  had 
warned  'em  at  one.  Drums  were  beat  and 
alarm  guns  fired  and  Cap'n  Parker's  company 
was  drawn  up  on  the  green  nigh  to  the  meetin'- 
house.  There  they  stood  when  the  British 
marched  up. 

"' Stand  firm,  men,'  says  Parker,  'and  don't 
fire  at  'em  until  they  fire  at  us.  Then  let  'em 
look  out.' 

"Upon  that,  the  British  officer  shouts  out: 
'Disperse,  you  pack  of  rebels;  throw  down  your 
muskets ! ' 

"  But  not  a  man  of  'em  budged,  I  was  told. 

"Then  the  officer  gave  the  command  to  fire, 
but  nobody  fired. 

"  *  Fire,  you  damned  dogs ! '  says  he  in  a  rage, 
and  then  there  came  a  volley,  and  some  of  our 
men  went  down." 

"And  didn't  —  didn't  our  men  fire  back?" 
asked  Constance,  her  eyes  aflame. 

"They  jest  did,  Mistress  Drake,"  replied 
Jonathan,  proudly,  "  and  the  bullets  found  their 
mark,  too,  for  a  lot  of  redcoats  bit  the  dust 
right  there." 

"And  who  —  who  did  we  lose,  Jonathan?" 
queried  Martha,  sadly. 

"There  was  another  volley,  'tis  said,  and 
Jonas  Parker  was  wounded.  Then,  as  Parker's 
men  gave  way,  some  damned  British  brute 
stuck  a  bayonet  into  him  and  let  out  his  heart's 
blood." 

[202] 


THE  FACE  ON  THE  PILLOW 

"Poor  Jonas,"  murmured  Mistress  Winship. 
"  God  help  his  old  mother!" 

"Others  were  killed,  too,"  resumed  Jonathan, 
"before  the  redcoats  give  a  cheer  and  started 
on  towards  Concord.  We  lost  Isaac  Muzzy, 
Robert  Munroe,  Jonathan  Harrington,  who  died 
right  on  his  own  doorstep,  right  afore  his  wife's 
eyes,  and  Samuel  Hadley,  besides  others  whose 
names  I  didn't  get." 

"  Is  it  certain  that  the  —  the  British  fired 
first?"  asked  Constance,  gravely. 

"Nathan  Hayes  had  it  from  Monroe  direct." 

"The  King's  men  fired  upon  —  upon  our 
countrymen  ? ' 

The  old  man  inclined  his  head. 

"Then,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  steadily  enough, 
spite  of  the  indignation,  the  sense  of  outrage 
that  had  brought  the  color  back  to  her  cheeks, 
"  those  shots  will  be  remembered  and  regretted." 

"Aye,  they  will,"  said  Jonathan.  "Even 
now  the  whole  country  is  alarmed,  and  men  who 
can  shoot  are  coming  in  from  every  part  around. 
I'm  told  Sam  Adams  is  off  to  Woburn  to  urge 
all  speed  by  the  minute-men  there  —  and  be- 
yond. 'Oh,  what  a  glorious  morning  is  this!' 
he  said  to  Hayes,  when  he  heard  that  the  British 
had  fired  first.  I  tell  ye  the  bloody-backs  will 
pay  dearly  for  their  work  afore  ever  they  get 
back  to  Boston  to-night." 

"Where's  Zeke?"   asked  Martha,   suddenly. 

"I  dunno,  Martha;  he  went  on  Concord  way 
after  I  left  him  in  Lexington." 

[203] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"  God  grant  no  harm  comes  to  him,"  was  the 
old  woman's  fervent  prayer. 

And  then,  practical  soul  that  she  was,  she  be- 
thought herself  of  the  morning  meal.  "Where 
there  s  fighting  there  must  be  food,"  she  de- 
clared sagely.  "I'll  get  some  breakfast." 

Constance  went  to  the  back  door,  and  looked 
out  over  the  smiling  fields  and  snowy  orchards 
of  the  farms,  her  heart  heavy  at  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  tender  beauty  of  the  spring  and  the 
hideous  deeds  that  had  reddened  Lexington 
green.  Even  as  she  gazed  in  a  sort  of  reverie,  a 
nawk  dropped  like  a  plummet  from  his  lazy 
circles  in  the  air,  seized  upon  a  chick  and  was  up 
again,  the  beating  of  his  wings  drowning  the 
tiny  shrilling  of  terror  from  the  poor  little  downy 
ball.  How  strangely  near  was  death  this  morn- 
ing, she  thought.  Even  nature,  the  beneficent, 
gave  countenance  to  the  destruction  of  the 
innocent.  Then  with  startling  vividness  came 
that  picture  of  the  dead  deserter  on  his  coffin-lid 
in  Boston  Common,  and  she  shuddered  in  the 
warm  sunlight,  and  turned  again  into  the  house. 

Passing  the  room  where  the  wounded  man 
lay,  she  saw  that  the  door  was  ajar.  Peering  in 
she  descried  the  tall  form  of  Jonathan  Winship, 
leaning  over  the  bed  in  an  attitude  of  kindly 
ministration.  And  the  face  upon  the  pillow 
was  the  face  of  John  Brandon. 


[204] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
The  Battle  of  the  Minute- Men 

JOHN  BRANDON  was  the  man  who  lay 
prone  and  helpless  in  that  inner  room !  What 
that  meant  to  him  and  his  cause,  Constance 
tried  to  conjecture,  but  her  shocked  brain  and 
unnerved  body  made  connected  thought  difficult 
for  her.  Of  this  much  she  felt  certain:  he  had 
been  thrown  from  his  horse,  either  in  a  fight 
or  by  some  accident,  but  whether  he  had  ever 
reached  his  intended  destination  or  not,  and 
what  effect  a  possible  failure  would  have  upon 
his  career,  —  these  were  the  questions  that  ran 
like  troops  of  vexatious  imps  through  her  mind. 

But,  after  all,  the  man  himself  was  there,  and 
not  dangerously  hurt,  so  old  Martha  assured 
her.  Let  the  others  fight  if  it  pleased  them; 
within  this  little  house  peace  had  already  come 
with  its  wondrous  kiss. 

It  was  now  about  ten  o'clock,  and,  although 
Menotomy  was  as  yet  outside  the  circle  of  con- 
flict, vague  rumors  of  what  was  going  forward 
in  the  direction  of  Concord  came  to  the  Winship 
house  almost  on  the  wings  of  the  wind.  Once 
or  twice  Constance  thought  she  heard  a  dull 
booming  from  the  northwest,  as  of  cannonading. 
Horsemen  galloping  south  flung  a  word  or  two 

[205] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

as  they  passed,  and  Jonathan  himself  returned 
now  and  then  from  his  little  expeditions  laden 
with  reports  that  varied  from  truth  to  wild  im- 
possibility. 

Shortly  after  noon,  a  company  of  minute-men 
from  Needham,  marching  with  all  haste  on  the 
news  of  the  British  invasion,  halted  before  the 
door  to  ask  for  water.  They  bore  on  their 
shoulders  the  flintlocks  that  had  subdued  the 
Indians,  and  the  drum  that  told  off  their  steps 
had  beat  at  Louisburg.  A  sturdy  lot  they  were, 
old  and  young,  mostly  garbed  in  the  homespun 
of  the  farm,  with  here  and  there  a  blue  dress  of 
the  militia. 

Good  Martha  vowed  that  they  should  have 
more  than  water  for  the  work  before  them,  and, 
with  Constance's  help,  cider  and  doughnuts  were 
brought  and  set  out  on  the  big  bench  under  the 
elms. 

As  they  stood  there  eating  and  drinking  hur- 
riedly, the  girl,  whose  ideas  of  military  efficiency 
had  hitherto  been  strongly  influenced  by  the 
trappings  of  the  regulars,  could  not  but  feel  that 
these  men  were  fighters  even  in  their  common 
apparel.  They  appealed  to  her  as  had  the  con- 
trast between  the  gilded  brilliancy  of  Gage  and 
the  sober  simplicity  of  Samuel  Adams.  No  men 
armed  because  of  wages  paid  were  these,  but 
people  of  the  soil  springing  up  because  their 
acres  and  their  country  were  threatened  with 
war. 

As  she  mused,  she  saw,  striding  across  the 
fields  toward  the  little  company,  a  huge,  hulking 

[2061 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MINUTE-MEN 

figure  whose  size  proclaimed  unmistakably  Toby 
Gookin.  He  carried  a  gun,  and  that  and  the 
new  cocked  hat  on  his  nead  gave  him  a  dis- 
tinctly martial  air,  at  which  Constance  smiled 
in  spite  of  herself.  As  "Long  Toby"  had  come 
from  the  direction  of  Lexington,  he  was  at  once 
surrounded  by  the  Needham  men,  who  begged 
for  some  accurate  intelligence  to  clear  the  cob- 
webs rumor  had  been  spinning  in  their  brains. 

"Well,  friend,"  said  their  captain,  "what 
news  from  beyond?  Mayhap  you  have  seen 
somewhat?" 

"I  hev,"  replied  Tobias,  without  undue 
modesty,  "  an'  I  ve  heerd  a  hull  lot  more  from 
them  that  hev.  Ye  knew  'baout  Lexington,  I 
'spose?" 

'Yes,  that's  clear  enow,"  was  the  impatient 
reply,  "but  after  that?" 

"Wall,  the  redcoats,  arter  their  bloody  work 
on  the  green  thar,  went  on  to  Concord,  where 
they  hoped  to  destroy  the  magazine  at  Colonel 
Barrett's." 

"And  did  they?" 

"Couldn't  find  it  ter  dee-stroy,"  chuckled 
Gookin.  "  But  they  did  spile  'baout  sixty  bar'ls 
o'  flour,  smashed  some  cannon,  cut  down  the 
liberty  pole  and  sot  the  court-house  afire.  But 
it  didn't  burn,  though,  fer  Mistress  Moulton  she 
put  aout  the  flames  a'most  whiles  they  were 
lookin'  at  her.  I  tell  ye,  the  women  air  jest  as 
useful  ez  the  men  in  this  'ere  leetle  trouble." 
And  the  big  countryman  cast  what  he  imagined 

[207] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

to  be  a  roguish  glance  at  Constance,  who  was 
drinking  in  his  words  with  intense  eagerness. 

"Wall,  hevin'  cut  up  didoes  in  Concord  vil- 
lage, the  bloody-backs  went  on  ter  the  North 
bridge,  which  they  wanted  ter  cross  ter  git  ter  the 
ammunition  on  t'other  side.  But  they  didn't 
git  no  further  than  the  furthest  end." 

"How's  that?"  asked  a  minute-man. 

"Wall,"  replied  Gookin,  smiling  grimly,  "thar 
on  t'other  end  was  Major  Buttrick  with  three 
hundred  o'  the  militiay,  an'  they  kinder  had  ob- 
jections. The  British  fired  fust,  and  dropped 
some  of  our  men.  Major  Buttrick  gin  the  order 
ter  fire,  but  the  men  were  pesky  slow. 

' '  Fire,  feller  soldiers,  f er  God's  sake,  fire ! '  he 
yelled,  and  then  they  did  fire,  you  bet,  an'  the 
reg'lars  picked  up  their  dead  an'  buried  'em 
right  thar  by  the  shore.  Then  they  started  with 
the  wounded  back  by  the  village." 

"Tell  me,  friend,"  said  the  Needham  cap- 
tain, "  who  were  killed  —  I  suppose  there  must 
ha'  been  some  killed." 

"There  wuz,"  answered  Gookin,  a  flash  of 
wrath  lighting  his  pale  eyes;  "damn  the  red- 
coats, there  wuz!  Cap'n  Isaac  Davis,  Abner 
Hosmer,  and  Luther  Blanchard,  the  fifer,  all  on 
'em  Acton  men,  won't  never  fight  no  more.  .  .  . 
That  was  more'n  three  hours  ago.  The  Brit- 
ishers spent  two  hours  collecting  themselves 
and  caring  for  the  wounded.  An*  they've  got 
to  fight  ev'ry  inch  home  —  through  woods  an* 
fields  full  o'  Patriots.  .  .  .  Friends,  they're  comin' 

[208] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MINUTE-MEN 

right  by  here,  God  knows  how  soon!  Ye'll  dew 
yer  duty?" 

With  a  resounding  cheer,  the  devoted  little 
band  straggled  on  up  the  Lexington  road,  soon 
to  mingle  with  that  larger  body  of  bush-ranging 
fighters  who  were  to  harass  the  enemy  past  all 
endurance. 

Gookin  lingered  a  moment,  at  Constance's 
invitation  to  refresh  himself.  He  took  a  long 
draught  of  cider,  but  declined  to  eat. 

"The  leaders  —  Adams,  Hancock  —  are  they 
safe  ?  "  asked  the  girl.  She  had  heard  they  were, 
but  felt  she  must  Know  the  truth. 

"Yes,  mistress,  quite  safe,"  replied  the  giant. 
"They  hed  early  warnin'.  An'  neaouw,  by  yer 
leave,  I'll  go  on  an'  spread  the  news,  an'  — 
What's  that?" 

Constance  listened,  but  it  was  a  full  minute 
before  she  heard  what  Gookin's  quick  ears  had 
already  detected.  Faintly  against  the  breeze 
came  the  squealing  music  of  fifes  and  the  rata- 
plan of  drums.  Then  "  Yankee  Doodle  "  shaped 
itself  in  their  perceptions. 

Tobias  raised  himself  to  his  full  tremendous 
height,  and  gazed  southward.  At  last,  in  a  fai 
turn  of  the  road,  he  descried  a  moving,  living 
wall  of  red,  preceded  by  a  figure  on  horseback. 
He  had  seen  enough. 

"Neaouw  I  guess  I  will  be  goin',"  he  de- 
clared, earnestly.  "  Jest  yew  git  inter  the  haouse, 
an*  yew'll  be  safe  enow.  They  won't  bother 
anybody  neaouw.  Good-day,  mistress." 

And  with  that,  "Long  Toby"  loped  heavily 

[209] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

up  and  across  the  road  and  disappeared  in  a 
clump  of  woods.  Constance  witndrew  to  the 
front  room  as  the  clearer  sound  of  the  music 
gave  her  warning. 

Soon  the  troops  swept  by  on  the  double-quick 
in  splendid  order,  and  brilliant  with  their  showy 
uniforms.  They  were  Lord  Percy's  fine  brig- 
ade, the  very  flower  of  the  British  in  America, 
Siing  to  the  relief  of  their  fellow  soldiers  ahead, 
onstance  could  but  admire  the  gallant  figure 
on  a  white  horse,  the  Earl's  favorite,  and  wish 
that  the  handsome  rider  had  another  errand. 
She  saw  two  field-pieces  rumble  by,  and  some- 
thing in  their  bulldog  look  struck  deeper  dread 
to  her  heart  than  all  the  near  two  thousand  mus- 
kets borne  by  the  scarlet  mass.  She  watched, 
as  if  fascinated,  till  only  a  cloud  of  dust  in  the 
northwest  marked  the  passing  of  the  brigade. 
Then  she  turned  sadly  from  the  window  to  see 
what  she  might  find  to  do  in  the  house. 

And  still  John  Brandon  slept. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  a  strange  activity 
along  the  road  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Winship 
dwelling  attracted  the  girl's  attention.  Little 
squads  of  the  country  people  seemed  to  sprint 
up  as  if  from  the  very  earth,  in  the  fields,  behind 
bushes,  and  back  of  barns  and  sheds.  Some  of 
the  more  venturesome  she  saw  hiding  under  the 
very  stone  walls  that  edged  the  road.  Every 
man  was  armed  in  whatever  fashion  was  possible 
to  him,  his  powder-horn  slung  over  his  shoulder. 
It  was  the  fringe  of  the  Patriot  host  that  stretched 

[210  J 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MINUTE-MEN 

from  Concord  almost  to  Charlestown  that  day, 
lying  in  wait  to  sting  and  bite  with  the  touch  of 

T  ^?  ^^ 

death  the  enemy  that  had  dared  to  penetrate 
its  strongholds. 

And  now  the  prey  was  drawing  near.  From 
up  the  road  came  the  confused  sounds  of  the 
firing  of  small-arms;  the  shouts  and  cries  of  de- 
fiance and  of  agony;  the  scuffling  of  many  feet 
as  the  red-coated  veterans  came  on,  on  their 
rout  back  to  Boston.  Percy's  brigade  was  trying 
to  cover  the  retreat  of  Smith's  force.  With 
ranks  torn,  their  dead  left  behind  them,  their 
less  severely  wounded  dragged  along  by  main 
strength,  the  troops  had  passed  through  a  verit- 
able hell  of  desultory  but  accurate  fire.  They 
would  have  still  gone  with  cheers  into  a  fight 
with  an  enemy  they  could  see,  but  this  horrible 
dropping  of  their  comrades,  like  victims  in  the 
shambles  of  an  unseen  butcher,  was  more  than 
flesh  and  blood  could  stand.  Yet  on  they  toiled, 
sweating,  panting,  cursing,  now  and  again  halt- 
ing to  fire  a  useless  volley  over  the  walls  and 
bushes  whence  had  sped  some  especially  fearful 
messages  of  death.  Come  what  might,  they 
must  get  back  to  Boston  before  night. 

What  revenge  was  possible,  that  they  took. 
Flaming  barns  and  houses,  slain  cattle  and 
horses,  and  dead  men  with  no  weapons  in  their 
hands,  marked  the  progress  of  tneir  retreat, 
which  had  now  reached  the  Winships',  and  was 
already  causing  the  women  to  shudder  with  ter- 
ror even  as  they  gazed  spellbound  from  the 
windows. 

[811] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

As  the  troops  poured  by,  a  detachment  left 
the  main  body  and  stood  at  rest  for  a  moment. 
Some  of  the  men  fell  upon  the  ground  like  ma- 
chines that  had  run  down,  their  tongues  hanging 
from  their  mouths  in  their  distress.  Others 
rushed  to  the  tavern  just  ahead  and  surrounded 
it,  firing  into  windows,  doors,  and  woodwork 
indiscriminately. 

Constance  saw  several  men  fleeing  to  safety 
behind  the  sheds  and  barns  and  across  the  fields ; 
only  one  came  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 
With  a  thrill  of  terror,  the  girl  recognized  Jon- 
athan Winship,  and  noted  that  he  was  unarmed. 

Calmly  the  old  man  walked  to  his  dooryard, 
then  turned  and  faced  the  pursuing  soldiers. 

"Kill  the  damned  rebel!  '  shouted  the  officer 
in  command.  "Fire!" 

One  awful  volley,  and  Jonathan  Winship  fell 
forward,  the  blood  spurting  from  gaping  wounds 
in  his  breast.  At  the  sight  Martha  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands  and  moaned. 

The  young  girl  rushed  into  the  dooryard  and 
stood  before  the  soldiers.  It  was  not  horror 
that  she  felt  now  so  much  as  fierce  anger  and  a 
wild  desire  for  retaliation.  Yet  duty  to  the  dead 
was  first. 

"  Carry  that  old  man  into  his  house,"  she  com- 
manded. 'Your  cowards'  work  is  done;  now 
perchance  you  will  pay  him  some  respect." 

"Do  as  the  girl  bids,"  ordered  the  sergeant, 
gruffly,  in  answer  to  the  inquiring  looks  of  the 
men. 

Two  coarse  troopers  lifted  the  body  with  no 

[2121 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MINUTE-MEN 

gentle  hand,  and  bore  it  into  the  stricken  dwell- 
ing. There  it  was  taken  to  its  own  chamber, 
and  broken,  tottering  Martha  was  left  alone 
with  her  dead. 

All  the  womanly  strength  in  Constance 
Drake's  nature,  all  the  hot  hatred  of  cowardice 
that  was  her  inheritance,  all  the  passionate  im- 
pulse to  defend  the  weak  against  the  strong, 
surged  up  from  her  heart  at  the  putting  to  death 
of  an  unarmed  old  man  on  his  own  threshold, 
by  hired  soldiers  of  an  invading  foreign  force. 
Even  home  had  been  no  sanctuary  against  the 
lust  of  blood,  for  the  man  whose  food  the  sol- 
diers were  now  eating  under  the  trees  had  been 
foully  murdered,  not  in  the  heat  of  conflict,  but 
in  cold  blood.  If  this  were  war,  she  thought, 
its  pomp  and  glory  and  circumstance  were  but 
sham  and  mockery. 

As  she  sat  at  a  front  window  watching  the 
soldiers,  a  door  creaked  behind  her.  Her  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  for  she  thought  she  would  see 
Martha  in  her  extremity  of  grief. 

But  there  before  her  stood  John  Brandon, 
ghostly  in  his  pallor,  his  eyes  lustreless  and 
sunken,  his  strange  appearance  heightened  by 
the  bandage  about  his  forehead. 

He  gazed  at  her  vacantly  without  a  word  of 
greeting.  Nor  did  she  speak  his  name.  She 
could  but  stare  at  the  apparition,  fascinated  by 
its  weirdness. 

"In  God's  name,  what  is  the  hour?"  asked 
Brandon,  at  length,  in  a  hollow  voice  that  had 
no  trace  of  familiar  sound  to  the  girl. 

1*131 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"About  half  after  two,"  she  replied,  calmly. 

"Constance!"  he  cried,  with  clearer  tones,  as 
something  stirred  in  his  memory.  And  then 
sinking  back  into  his  depths  of  lethargy  he  asked : 

"And  the  day?" 

"  Wednesday." 

The  poor  fellow's  head  fell  upon  his  breast 
with  apprehension. 

"Then  I  may  have  been  too  late,"  he  muttered. 

At  the  sound  of  a  sharp  command,  "Squad, 
fall  in!"  from  the  road,  Brandon  raised  his  head 
swiftly,  and  what  he  saw  from  the  window 
caused  his  eyes  to  flash  fire. 

"Redcoats!  I  am  too  late,"  he  exclaimed 
passionately.  "They  have  been  captured!" 

'  You  mean  Mr.  Adams  and  —  ' 

"And  the  others  of  the  committee.  .  .  .  What 
do  you  know?" 

*  They  are  safe,"  said  Constance;  "they  were 
—  warned  in  time." 

"Thank  God  for  that!" 

The  rolling  of  a  drum  outside  broke  in  upon 
the  silent  gratitude  of  both.  And  then  came  an 
incisive  order: 

"Sergeant,  search  that  house!" 

Brandon  started,  and  looked  at  Constance 
appealingly. 

'Has  there  been  —  is  it  war?"  he  asked. 

She  nodded  gently,  noting  for  the  first  time, 
as  Brandon  made  a  quick  movement  of  his  hand 
to  his  side,  that  he  wore  a  sword.  She  sprang 
to  him  with  an  exclamation  of  dismay. 

ti 

"  If  they  find  you  here,  it  is  death ! ' 

[214] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MINUTE-MEN 

Weakly  he  tried  to  draw  his  weapon,  but  she 
placed  a  firm  hand  on  his  wrist. 

"For  my  sake,"  she  begged  tenderly.  He 
looked  into  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  then 
staggered  to  his  room. 

Barely  had  Constance  closed  the  door,  when 
the  troops  came  swaggering  into  the  long  hall. 

"Your  pardon,  miss,"  growled  the  sergeant, 
with  a  poor  attempt  at  civility,  "but  we  must 
search  this  house.  .  .  .  You  two  upstairs,  and 
you  two  into  these  rooms  here." 

"Not  in  there,"  said  the  girl,  solemnly,  point- 
ing to  the  door  of  Martha's  room. 

'And  why  not,  pray?"  sneered  the  officer. 

"There  is  no  one  there  but  a  woman  and  her 
dead,"  she  replied. 

The  sergeant  made  an  impatient  gesture  of 
command,  and  a  soldier  opened  the  door  and 
looked  in.     He  turned  back  at  once  with  a  nod. 
1  'Tis  as  she  says,  sergeant,  the  man  shot  out- 
side the  house." 

"Very  well.     That  door." 

"Nay,  I  pray  you,  not  this  room,"  exclaimed 
Mistress  Drake,  standing  on  the  threshold  and 
spreading  her  arms  across  the  panels  with  a 
superb  movement  of  protection.  'You  will  not 
do  this,  I  am  sure.  'Tis — 'tis  my  room,  sir." 

"And  what  of  that,  miss?"  was  the  cold  and 
suspicious  reply. 

'  Surely  you  must  know.  Perhaps  you  have 
a  sister.  .  .  .  Ah,  I  see  you  have.  How  would 
you  fancy  her  boudoir  to  be  ransacked  by  — 
even  by  gallant  soldiers  ?" 

[215] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"  Sergeant,"  said  one  of  the  men  in  an  under- 
tone, "the  girl  is  daughter  or  niece  to  a  King's 
councillor  in  Boston." 

'  'Twere  the  same  were  she  the  Queen's  first 
maid  of  honor.  .  .  .  Search  that  room!" 

A  burly  soldier  seized  Constance's  hand  and 
would  have  torn  it  from  the  latch  had  not  a  new 
voice  suddenly  broken  in  upon  the  confusion, 
with  a  clear  tone  of  authority  that  set  the  blood 
leaping  through  the  girl's  veins. 

*  Stand  back,  men!"  it  commanded.  There 
was  scarce  need  of  sight  to  tell  the  fair  guardian 
of  the  portal  that  again  had  Lieutenant  Charlton 
come  as  by  some  higher  design  to  be  her  friend 
and  helper. 

"  I'll  vouch  for  this  lady  —  Mistress  Drake 
—  sergeant,"  said  the  lieutenant. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  accompanied 
by  a  salute. 

"  Join  your  company  with  your  men."  Again 
the  sergeant  brought  his  hand  to  his  cheek,  and 
the  soldiers  clattered  out  of  the  house. 

"Well,  Mistress  Drake,"  said  Charlton,  turn- 
ing to  the  girl,  with  a  bright  smile,  "what  have 
you  concealed  there  —  the  latest  bonnet?" 

"This  is  a  sorry  day  for  jesting,  sir,"  she  re- 
plied sadly. 

"You  speak  truly  indeed.     Yet  but  now - 

The  sergeant's  sudden  return  checked  the 
words  in  the  lieutenant's  mouth. 

"Beg  pardon,  lieutenant,"  he  began  excitedly, 
"but  there  is  someone  in  that  room.  One  of 
my  men  saw  him  pass  the  window." 

[216] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MINUTE-MEN 

"Indeed!  We'll  have  him  out.  Allow  me, 
Mistress  Drake." 

As  Charlton  strode  toward  the  fatal  door,  and 
stood  as  if  waiting  for  her  to  step  aside,  Con- 
stance felt  as  if  an  iron  hand  had  stricken  her 
motionless.  Yet  her  brain  was  strangely  clear 
and  alert,  and  urged  her  tongue  to  the  work  her 
frail  woman's  hands  could  not  do  against  these 
numbers. 

A  low  whisper,  that,  to  her  fevered  fancy, 
seemed  to  be  from  afar  off,  came  from  her  al- 
most motionless  lips. 

"  It  is  —  the  —  man  —  I  —  love." 

The  glance  of  Charlton's  eyes,  a  look  that 
neither  then  nor  thereafter  was  she  able  to 
fathom,  proved  that  he  heard.  But  he  made 
no  sign,  and,  gently  moving  her  from  before  the 
door,  he  entered  the  room.  He  came  out  with 
an  air  of  slightly  bored  amusement. 

'Your  man  must  be  so  tired  he  dreams 
awake,"  he  said  to  the  sergeant.  "There's  no 
one  in  the  room." 

"Very  well,  sir."  And  out  went  the  crest- 
fallen subaltern  again. 

"It  was  the  only  way,"  whispered  Charlton. 
"Those  men  are  not  under  my  command." 

"I  —  I  am  very  grateful,"  stammered  Con- 
stance. 

"There  will  soon  be  no  danger,"  continued 
the  lieutenant.  "Hark!  They  are  going.  And 
I  must  follow.  'Tis  a  dangerous  country  to-day, 
egad,  for  a  coat  of  my  color.  Good-by,  Mis- 

[817] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

tress  Drake.  May  we  meet  again  under  hap- 
pier auspices." 

Constance  extended  her  hand,  which  he 
raised  to  his  lips,  with  a  mingling  of  gallantry 
and  devotion.  Then  he  strode  down  the  hall 
toward  the  entrance  door. 

Constance  was  on  the  point  of  following  him 
with  a  final  word  of  gratitude,  when  the  figure 
of  John  Brandon  brushed  past  her.  His  drawn 
sword  was  in  his  hand. 

At  the  girl's  cry  of  warning,  Charlton  turned 
swiftly  and  drew  his  blade,  standing  on  the  de- 
fensive before  the  mad  attack.  Then,  with  a 
quick  and  certain  move,  he  sent  Brandon's 
sword  spinning  against  the  ceiling.  As  it  came 
clanging  to  the  floor,  the  infuriated  young  man 
seized  it  and  again  dashed  forward  to  press  the 
Englishman. 

Constance  threw  herself  recklessly  between 
the  two  sword-points  with  a  cry  of  horrified 
appeal. 

'Oh,  John,  John,  what  would  you  do?"  she 
begged,  "he  is  our  —  your  friend." 

Slowly  the  meaning  of  her  words  lightened  the 
darkened  mind  of  her  Patriot  lover.  He  low- 
ered his  sword  inch  by  inch,  while  the  first  touch 
of  red  flowed  in  upon  his  pale  cheek.  Charlton 
sheathed  his  weapon  and  turned  to  go. 

"Good-day  again,  Mistress  Drake,"  he  said 
coldly,  with  a  most  punctilious  bow,  "I  have 
already  sufficiently  forgot  my  duty  for  your 
sake." 

Brandon  stared  after  the  retreating  officer 
[2181 


THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  MINUTE-MEN 

without  a  word,  and  as  silently  watched  him 
join  the  other  redcoats  in  the  road,  and  saw  the 
whole  body  of  troops  get  into  motion.  Then 
he  turned  to  Constance  with  a  curious  light  on 
his  face. 

"That  man  loves  you,"  he  said,  with  quiet 
conviction. 

The  girl  laughed  a  weak  and  ineffective  laugh. 
"Does  he,  indeed?"  she  retorted.  "You  must 
be  in  his  closest  confidence,  then,  for  he  has 
never  told  even  me." 

The  sound  of  firing  down  the  road  heralded 
a  renewal  of  the  maddening  attack  from  am- 
bush by  the  sharpshooting  farmers. 

John  Brandon  lifted  his  head  at  the  little, 
snarling  reports  of  the  musketry,  listened  for  a 
moment,  then  rushed  toward  the  door. 

"John,  John!"  cried  Constance,  trying  in 
vain  to  stop  him.  He  brushed  her  aside, 
roughly. 

"It  is  for  —  for  liberty,"  he  shouted,  "and  I 
am  a  laggard!"  So  he  was  gone. 

The  girl  sank  slowly  to  her  knees  and  lifted 
her  hands  in  prayer. 


[*l»J 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
Giles  Romney  Sees  the  Light 

LEFT  alone  in  the  Winship  house  with  its 
silent  dead  and  as  silent  guardian,  Constance 
felt  herself  overborne  by  the  accumulated  hor- 
rors of  the  night  and  day.  Now  that  John 
Brandon  had  flung  himself  from  her  presence 
in  his  fit  of  jealous  rage,  she  seemed  alone  in  all 
the  world  01  dread  which  surrounded  her.  Yet 
was  it  jealousy  that  had  caused  those  incoherent 
cries,  that  mad  rush  to  arms  ?  Was  it  not  rather 
the  struggling  of  a  fixed  idea  to  free  itself  from 
the  stricken  brain  of  a  wounded  man;  the  fever- 
ish desire  to  complete  a  service  which  he  had 
undertaken  in  his  right  mind  ? 

It  was  horrible  to  think  of  what  might  happen 
to  him  in  his  rash  pursuit  of  an  army.  She 
turned  to  the  door  as  if  to  follow  and  rescue  him 
from  himself,  but  he  was  no  longer  in  sight,  and 
the  helplessness  of  her  position  was  made  mani- 
fest. Wearied  and  weak  and  sick  at  heart,  she 
dragged  herself  back  to  her  room  and  dropped 
into  a  low  rocking-chair,  trying  to  soothe  her 
troubled  brain  by  the  gentle  motion.  But  no 
peace  came  to  her,  save  only,  perhaps,  the  ten- 
derness of  yearning  -  -  new  and  sweet  —  for 

[220] 


GILES  ROMNEY  SEES  THE  LIGHT 

the  man  whose  blood-stained  head  she  would 
now  gladly  have  caressed. 

After  a  little,  drowsiness  stole  over  the  girl, 
as  she  sat  in  her  chair,  and  she  might  have  slept 
on  until  the  night,  had  not  the  boisterous  return 
of  Ezekiel  Winship  brought  her  back  into  her 
world  of  trouble  and  foreboding.  Quickly  she 
went  out  to  meet  him;  she  recoiled  with  some- 
thing almost  like  fright  at  his  appearance. 

His  hair  was  matted  around  his  head,  his  face 
grimy  with  dirt  and  powder-stains,  his  shirt 
nearly  in  tatters,  and  his  shoes  white  with  dust. 
But  withal,  his  countenance  was  beaming  with 
delight,  and  he  waved  his  gun,  the  stock  of 
which  had  been  shattered  by  a  bullet,  with  the 
hilarity  of  a  child  possessed  of  a  new  toy. 

"Sister  Marthy,"  he  roared,  "come  here  and 
give  your  brother  Zeke  a  buss  so's  yer  can  tell 
your  grandchildren  you  kissed  a  minute-man  on 
Concord  day  —  the  day  the  redcoats  ran  and 
liberty  was  born.  Hurrah  for  the  Provincial 
Congress  and  Joseph  Warren !  Hur  - 

Slowly  the  door  of  his  brother's  room  opened, 
and  he  saw  the  face  of  his  brother's  wife,  pale, 
tragic,  awful  in  its  set  look  of  despair.  Even 
then  he  did  not  comprehend. 

"What's  the  matter,  Marthy?"  he  asked, 
kindly.  "You  look  as  if  you'd  seen  a  ghost. 
Cheer,  Marthy,  cheer!  Say,  where's  Jonathan  ? " 

No  answering  word  came  from  the  rigid 
woman;  scarcely  an  enlightening  motion.  With 
her  eyes,  rather,  she  told  the  way  to  the  room 
she  had  just  left.  A  stony  expression  of  horror 

[221] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

settled  upon  the  man's  face  as  he  looked  and 
saw  Something  on  the  bed.  Then  both  went 
in  hand  in  hand,  and  Constance's  final  sight  of 
them  was  as  they  knelt  together  beside  the  body 
of  him  they  had  loved. 

In  after  years,  when  Constance  used  some- 
times to  tell  of  her  part  in  the  day  of  the  battle 
of  the  minute-men,  she  could  never  cjuite  remem- 
ber how  she  left  the  house  of  the  Wmships,  save 
that  she  knew  that  she  ought  no  longer  to  intrude 
her  own  little  griefs  upon  their  overwhelming 
sorrow. 

Somehow  or  other,  she  found  herself,  with  her 
few  small  belongings,  walking  aimlessly  past  the 
stable  yard  of  the  tavern,  when  an  uncertain 
sound  called  her  back  to  the  affairs  of  every-day 
life. 

"Missy  Constance,"  she  seemed  to  hear  in  a 
very  smothered  and  very  abject  voice  that  spoke 
of  Ethiopian  fright. 

Again  the  call,  and  now  it  was  plainly  pro- 
ceeding from  the  barn,  where  Pompey,  from  his 
snug  retreat  in  the  middle  of  a  hay-mow,  had 
spied  his  temporary  mistress  from  a  chink  in  the 
boarding.  It  was  not  without  much  urging 
and  a  positive  assurance  that  the  soldiers  of  each 
side  had  gone,  that  the  fellow  was  induced  to 
forsake  his  sanctuary  and  come  forth  into  the 
light  of  day. 

"Why,  Pompey,"  said  Constance,  severely, 
though  inclined  to  smile  at  his  ridiculous  ap- 

[222] 


GILES  ROMNEY  SEES  THE  LIGHT 

pearance,  "  hiding  in  the  face  of  danger  ?     I  am 
surprised.     I  thought  you  a  man  of  courage." 

So  I  is,  missy,  so  I  is,  fer  suah.  I'se  a 
reg'lar  Tantalus  fer  bravery  when  de  proper 
'casion  'rises.  But  dis  day  I  thinks  ter  myself, 
when  I  hears  de  guns  a-nrin',  'Pomp,  yo  jest 

fot  ter  sabe  yo'self  fer  Missy  Drake,  so's  ter  git 
er  back  ter  town  all  right.  Yo'  git  inter  dat 
ar  hay-mow  and  stay  dar  till  yo'  sees  her  a-com- 
in'.'  So  here  I  is." 

"  Very  well,  Pompey,"  was  the  indulgent  reply, 
"  since  you  are  here  for  me,  just  get  some  sort  of  a 
conveyance  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  hitch  our 
horses  into  it.  We  must  at  once  for  my  aunt 
and  the  servants." 

It  was  growing  toward  dusk  when  the  terri- 
fied Tabitha  and  the  three  domestics  were  loaded 
upon  the  ample  farm  wagon  that  the  negro  had, 
truth  to  tell,  borrowed  without  the  formality  of 
asking  permission,  from  the  tavern  sheds.  Con- 
stance rapidly  made  known  to  her  aunt  the  mo- 
mentous events  of  the  day,  and  told  her,  with 
reassuring  words,  of  the  illness  of  the  Councillor. 
Then  they  drove  on  in  silence,  for  Tabitha  was 
never  loquacious  and  the  girl  was  too  full  of  her 
own  thoughts  to  speak. 

Pompey,  chastened  by  the  alarming  events  of 
the  day,  drove  as  if  his  life  were  to  be  forfeit  to 
any  carelessness,  and  the  wagon  was  firm  and 
trustworthy.  Once,  they  were  challenged  by 
some  Patriot  pickets  just  across  the  Charles, 
but  were  not  detained,  and  the  British  outposts 
at  the  fortifications  on  the  Neck  held  them  a 

[223] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

moment  until  Constance's  pass,  produced  again 
from  its  pretty  hiding-place,  set  them  free. 

But  poor  Pompey  was  destined  to  undergo 
the  tortures  of  one  more  fright  ere  Boston  was 
gained.  Just  before  the  British  lines  had  been 
reached,  a  huge  form  sprang  from  the  bushes 
and  seized  one  of  the  plodding  horses  by  its 
bridle. 

"Go  way  from  dose  bosses,  chile,"  cried  the 
darky,  his  teeth  chattering  audibly. 

"I  mean  no  harm,"  was  the  gruff  reply,  "I 
seek  but  a  word  with  Mistress  Drake." 

As  the  man  left  the  horses  and  came  nearer, 
Constance  saw  that  he  was  the  towering  Toby 
Gookin. 

"  Well,  sir ! "  she  demanded,  in  no  very  amiable 
frame  of  mind. 

"For  your  own  ear,  if  you  will  please,"  said 
the  tall  countryman. 

Then  he  spoke  in  an  undertone:  "He  is  safe. 
Master  Brandon,  I  mean." 

"And  sent  you  to  tell  me  so  ?"  she  asked,  with 
rising  indignation. 

"Wall,  not  exactly,  m'am,"  replied  Toby, 
calmly.  "Fact  is,  he  do'n't  say  much  —  least- 
ways that's  worth  listenin'  to." 

"He  is  — ill?" 

"The  brain  —  a  fever,  they  say." 

"Oh!" 

"But  he  is  safe  —  well  cared  for,  and  will 
soon  be  well  and  strong  again." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,"  saia  the  girl  simply.  "I 
should  have  remembered  his  condition  of  this 

[224] 


GILES  ROMNEY  SEES  THE  LIGHT 

afternoon.  If  you  are  to  have  conference  with 
him,  say  that  I  -  But  the  big  man  had  al- 
ready disappeared,  and  the  message  was  un- 
finished. 

Home  again  in  the  Winter  Street  mansion — 
and  how  fine  and  comfortable  and  wholly  de- 
lightful it  was,  Constance  now  realized  for  the 
first  time  —  they  found  Councillor  Romney  in 
better  health,  but  wofully  alarmed  about  their 
safety.  The  wildest  of  rumors  had  flown  about 
the  town  all  day  long,  the  most  disconcerting  of 
which,  to  the  warm-hearted  old  man,  was  that 
women  and  children  had  been  massacred  in  cold 
blood  —  by  which  side  it  was  not  quite  clear. 
For  the  possible  destruction  of  his  Menotomy 
property  ne  cared  nothing;  he  but  longed  to  see 
his  dear  ones  with  him  again.  So  when  they 
walked  into  the  house  safe  and  sound,  he  quite 
broke  down  and  shed  tears  of  thanksgiving, 
which  he  presently  tried  to  cough  away,  remark- 
ing that  he  had  a  trifling  rheum  that  made  his 
old  eyes  water. 

Mistress  Drake  no  longer  attempted  to  deny 
that  she  was  sleepy  and  tired  and  broken  down. 
Indeed,  she  almost  collapsed  under  the  reaction, 
luxurious  though  it  were,  and  going  early  to  bed 
she  slept  dreamlessly  until  nearly  noon  next  day, 
waking  to  find  pretty  Barbara  watching  her. 

"I  thought  you'd  never  wake,  Connie,"  cried 
the  girl,  "yet  I  might  have  known  how  wearied 
you  must  have  been,  though  truth  to  tell  I  know 
nothing  of  what  happened  to  you.  Now  let  me 

[225] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

bring  your  breakfast,  and  then  you  shall  give 
me  word  of  everything  that  happened." 

But,  as  she  ate,  Constance  decided  not  to  be 
fully  frank  with  the  little  girl,  especially  in  the 
matter  of  her  brother  John.  It  would  be  more 
kind  to  keep  from  her  news  that  would  only 
cause  needless  alarm;  besides,  she  felt  a  curious 
reluctance  to  mention  the  young  Patriot  in  the 
light  of  yesterday's  revelation.  Barbara,  how- 
ever, was  so  full  of  the  larger  events  of  the  day, 
that  no  actual  evasion  was  necessary. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  terrible,  Constance?"  exclaimed 
she.  "Dr.  Gair  stopped  for  a  few  moments 
last  night,  and  he  says  over  seventy  soldiers  were 
killed,  and  more  than  twice  as  many  wounded, 
with  half  a  hundred  prisoners.  Think  of  it, 
Constance !  Ensign  Cuyler  says  — 

Constance  smiled  gently.  "Then  he  was 
not—?" 

"Oh,  no,"  was  the  glad  response,  "he  was 
with  Percy  to  cover  the  retreat,  Dr.  Gair  calls 
it,  but  Thomas  —  I  mean  Ensign  Cuyler  —  says 
it  was  a  flight." 

"I  should  think  that  was  about  it,"  returned 
Mistress  Drake,  drily.  "  At  least  that  part  that 
came  past  my  eyes  greatly  resembled  a  rout." 

"Oh,  Constance,  then  you  saw  it  all?  What 
was  it  like?" 

"  Like  ?  Like  something,  please  God,  I  hope 
never  to  look  upon  again.  .  .  .  There,  there,  let 
us  change  the  subject,  dear.  I  —  I  really  be- 
lieve that  I  must  have  nerves,  after  all." 

Toward  evening,   Barbara  went  home,   "in 

[226] 


GILES  ROMNEY  SEES  THE  LIGHT 

case  John  might  possibly  come,"  she  told  Con- 
stance, rather  pathetically.  Old  Romney,  by  Dr. 
Gair's  consent,  was  carried  to  the  sitting-room 
couch,  where  he  silently  watched  Constance's 
every  move  as  she  flitted  about  in  the  candle- 
light. 

"If  he  ever  recovers  the  use  of  his  limb,"  the 
little  surgeon  had  told  Constance,  "it  will  not 
be  for  many  months,  He  must  stay  where  he 
is  —  egad,  even  if  the  rebels  smoke  us  out." 

"Is  there  fear  of  that?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"Maybe.  I  find  'tis  no  mob  the  King  has  to 
deal  with,  but  troops,  girl,  a  bit  ragged  and  un- 
seasoned, but  troops  just  the  same.  ' 

When  the  kindly  doctor  had  gone  with  a  part- 
ing drollery  for  the  Councillor,  the  girl  and  her 
uncle  were  alone  for  a  time.  The  old  man's 
thirst  for  news  had  not  been  sufficiently  slaked, 
and  Constance  at  last  gave  him  his  fill.  When 
she  had  finished  her  nervous,  throbbing,  vital 
story,  he  closed  his  eyes. 

'You  say  the  regulars  fired  first?"  he  asked, 
at  length,  with  great  deliberation. 

"Yes,  uncle." 

"You  are  sure?" 

"I  couldn't  disbelieve  men  who  were  fighting 
for  their  homes." 

"Constance,  my  girl,"  said  her  uncle,  more 
impressively  than  she  had  ever  heard  him  speak, 
"  I'm  an  old  man,  and  I  have  honored  my  King, 
and  I've  served  him.  But  if  his  ministers  and 
his  troops  forced  this  blood  upon  the  people,  I 

F2271 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

am  afraid  my  hopes  must  rest  with  the  country 
they  have  forced  to  revolution." 

'  Why,  uncle!"  was  her  startled  comment. 
This  was,  by  Tory  standards,  treason  talk,  and 
she  rejoiced  in  her  astonishment. 

"There  are  knives  that  cut  allegiance  like 
pack-thread,  Constance,"  he  went  on.  "If 
what  you  say  be  true  I  fear  the  day  will  come  — 
when  I  can  no  longer  say — 'God — save  —  the 
Kine.'" 

The  old  man's  voice  trembled  as  he  concluded 
what  was  for  him  a  long  and  eloquent  speech. 
Constance  threw  herself  on  the  floor  beside  his 
couch  and  stroked  his  forehead  gently  without  a 
word.  After  a  little,  a  fitful  sleep  came  to  him  in 
which  he  muttered  incoherent  things  about  the 
army.  There  the  girl  sat,  until  Pompey  and  a 
house  servant  came  to  carry  the  master  to  bed. 

On  their  way  through  the  hall,  supported  by 
his  men,  the  Councillor  put  out  his  hand  feebly 
for  his  niece.  She  took  it  firmly  in  her  warm, 
plump  one  and  put  up  her  red  lips  for  a  kiss. 

As  the  old  man  stooped  and  smacked  her  with 
something  of  his  customary  heartiness,  he  whis- 
pered: 

"  They — they  fought  the  regulars  well,  then  ?" 

She  nodded  emphatically. 

"And  the  troops  fired  first  ?" 

Again  the  affirmation  of  the  curly  head. 

"Then  'tis  the  opening  chapter  of  the  history 
of  a  nation!" 


[228] 


CHAPTER  XXV 
"A  Spy  Indeed" 

FOR  many  days  after  her  return  to  Boston, 
Constance  was  busily  occupied  —  more, 
indeed,  with  the  things  that  pertained  to  home 
than  with  the  tumultuous  progress  of  affairs  in 
the  town,  where  martial  law  had  superseded  all 
other  authority,  and  where  the  tramping  of 
armed  men,  the  blare  of  the  trumpet,  and  the 
booming  of  artillery  had  come  to  be  every-day 
sounds.  Giles  Romney  was  worse  in  a  curious 
sort  of  way,  and  the  girl  was  tied  closely  to  the 
old  man,  both  because  he  wanted  her  above  all 
others,  and  because  she  was  fond  and  grateful. 

"Tis  strange  enow,"  piped  Dr.  Gair  one 
day,  "this  continued  illness  of  your  uncle.  His 
injury  and  fever  have  yielded,  but  there  is  a 
curious  depression  for  which  I  cannot  account." 

"  You  could  have  explained  it,  I  think,"  said 
Constance,  to  the  fair  picture  within  the  ma- 
hogany oval  of  her  mirror  at  candle-light.  "  Poor 
uncle!  His  life-long  pride  in  his  King  is  strug- 
gling with  his  pity  for  his  oppressed  and  stricken 
countrymen.  Lackaday!  How  will  it  all  end  ?" 

How,  indeed  ?  Many  another  woman's  heart, 
Patriot  and  Loyalist,  was  asking  over  and  over 
again  the  same  sad  question,  as  it  saw  and  knew 

[229] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

the  monster  of  civil  war  rearing  its  head  in  the 
beautiful  land.  And  though  me  British  pride 
still  scorned  the  word,  there  was  no  doubt  that 
Tory  Boston  was  in  a  state  of  siege.  Although 
intercourse  with  the  outlying  country  had  been 
promptly  cut  off  by  Gage,  tnus  entailing  many 
hardships  upon  the  citizens  who  remained,  news 
had  drifted  in  regularly,  and  there  was  no  doubt 
that  the  colonies  had  sprung  to  arms,  and  that 
the  first  seat  of  the  American  army  was  Cam- 
bridge, whose  spires  could  be  seen  just  across 
the  river. 

And  now  a  new  weight  was  added  to  Con- 
stance's household  burden.  Her  Aunt  Tabitha 
fell  nervously  ill,  and  then  the  entire  care  of  the 
household  bore  upon  her  young  shoulders.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  years  had  suddenly  been  put 
upon  her  age,  and  she  found  that  the  light  heart 
of  youth  had  grown  almost  heavy. 

One  day,  Dr.  Gair,  who  had  proved  him- 
self a  cheery  friend  as  well  as  a  faithful  physi- 
cian, said  to  her:  "Connie,  my  dear,  where  is 
the  color  that  used  to  flame  here  ?  "  and  he  gently 
pinched  her  cheek.  "  And  where  are  the  smues  ?  ' 

The  girl's  lips  trembled  with  the  sweet  wraith 
of  the  mirth  that  had  once  been  their  chief  habit. 
But  it  was  a  smile,  and  the  little  surgeon  ap- 
plauded. 

"Bravely  done,  my  girl,"  he  cried,  "bravely 
done,  as  is  all  else  you  attempt.  But  it  won't  do 
at  all,  it  won't  do.  .  .  .  Do  you  know,  I  wonder, 
what  my  Lord  Rawdon,  Earl  Percy,  and  others 
of  the  pride  of  our  officers  call  you  ?" 

[230] 


"A  SPY  INDEED" 

She  opened  her  mouth  to  reply,  but  Dr.  Gair 
did  not  wait. 

"No,  of  course  you  don't,"  he  rattled  on. 
"Well,  'tis  'My  Lady  Laughter." 

"  Why,  I  -  '  she  murmured,  gazing  at  him 
inquiringly. 

Ah,  the  roses  peep  out  a  bit  at  that,  do  they  ? 
Yes,  thanks  to  Charlton  and  his  toast,  that's 
what  they  - 

"So  'twas  me  he  meant  that  night?"  she  said 
softly.  Then  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  doctor 
again.  "  And  did  they  —  the  officers  —  know  ?  " 

"Know?  Of  course.  You  were  'My  Lady 
Laughter'  to  'em  when  Percy  first  moved  into 
Sir  Francis  Bernard's  house.  But  'twill  be  so  no 
more  if  you  do  not  take  better  care  of  yourself." 

Indignation  flashed  into  the  girl's  heart,  and 
she  was  at  the  point  of  protesting  against  the 
free  and  easy  christening  by  the  soldiers,  but 
something  told  her  to  forbear.  As  the  garrulous 
old  fellow  chattered  on  she  remembered  that, 
though  her  friend,  he  was  an  enemy  to  her  coun- 
try —  her  own  country  now,  sealed  to  her  by 
the  shedding  of  blood. 

But  she  took  the  doctor's  homily  about  exer- 
cise and  recreation  in  good  part,  and  really  went 
abroad  more,  though  there  was  little  that  was 
pleasing  now  in  the  sight  of  military  activity. 
Occasionally  she  walked  far  afield,  even  out  to 
the  Neck,  the  natural  outlet  of  the  departing 
Patriot  families,  where  their  difficulties  with  the 
British  guards  sometimes  took  a  humorous  turn. 

Just  after  Lexington,  Gage  had  decreed,  with 

[231] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

his  usual  love  for  issuing  manifestos,  that  such 
of  the  inhabitants  as  wished  might  leave  the 
town,  provided  they  deposited  at  Faneuil  Hall 
all  their  firearms  and  weapons.  So  great  was 
the  anxiety  of  the  citizens  to  quit  beleaguered 
Boston,  that  in  a  single  day  thousands  of  guns 
and  swords  were  stacked  up  within  the  building 
of  Tory  name  but  Patriot  fame.  But  the  Loyal- 
ists were  thoroughly  alarmed  at  this  wholesale 
exodus  of  those  who  were  to  some  extent  their 
hostages  of  safety,  and  so  importuned  the  com- 
mander that  he  modified  his  order,  making  it 
difficult  for  anyone  to  reach  the  country. 

On  one  of  her  expeditions  to  the  Neck,  Con- 
stance had  reached  the  limit  of  her  walk,  when 
she  saw  coming  toward  her  a  lady  accompa- 
nied by  a  man  servant. 

"Why,  'tis  Mistress  Knox,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  and  fleeing  the  town.  She'll  never  get  by 
the  soldiers  should  they  know  'tis  the  wife  of  the 

^^ 

Patriot  general.     I  —  I  must  help  her." 

As  the  lady  and  her  domestic  reached  the  point 
where  the  flanking  earthworks  had  been  thrown 
up,  sentinels  barred  her  way.  Constance  joined 
the  group. 

"Why,  Mistress  Auchmuty,"  she  called  very 
loudly.  :<Who  would  'a'  thought  to  see  you 
here.  And  to  think"  -  she  sighed  deeply  — 
"that  we  Tory  women  must  also  be  halted  in 
our  little  rambles.  Lackaday,  it  scarcely  profits 
to  be  a  Loyalist  in  these  times." 

Mistress  Knox's  stare  of  amazement  endured 
for  but  a  moment.  Then  her  keen  intelligence 

[232] 


"A  SPY  INDEED" 

penetrated  the  pretense,  and  she  answered  in 
kind.  Meantime,  the  inspecting  officer  was 
looking  her  over  with  great  deliberation. 

"What  ails  your  cloak?"  whispered  the  girl, 
rapidly.  "Methinks  it  —  it  sticks  out  amaz- 
ingly far  on  this  side.'* 

'Hush,"  was  the  reply;  "'tis  my  husband's 
sword  quilted  into  the  lining." 

For  a  moment  Constance  feared  that  her  good 
offices  were  to  be  wholly  thrown  away.  Then 
she  knew  that  the  officer  must  be  taken  prisoner, 
so  that  his  eye  might  not  detect  that  bulging  of 
the  cloak. 

"Oh,  oh!"  she  cried,  with  a  tone  of  sudden 
pain.  Perhaps  there  was  a  genuine  smart,  for 
she  had  pinched  the  tender  ball  of  her  thumb 
relentlessly,  and  a  little  swelling  at  once  rose. 
And  the  look  of  ohild-like  appeal  in  woman's 
guise  that  she  threw  the  officer  would  have 
melted  a  far  harder  hearted  man  than  he. 

"Why,  mistress,"  he  said,  drawing  near  the 
pretty  sufferer  —  who  also  drew  near  him  — 
"what  is't  ailsthee?" 

"  A  bee  —  or  else  a  hornet  —  or  perchance  a 
wasp,"  she  cried,  piteously.  "They  sting  won- 
drously,  our  Yankee  wasps.  See."  And  she 
laid  her  dainty  hand  full  in  his  muscular  one, 
showing  the  red  and  swollen  wound. 

"  But  I  am  keeping  you  from  your  duty,"  she 
exclaimed.  "  That  lady - 

"The  lady  can  go  on,"  said  the  officer,  making 
a  gesture  to  one  of  the  soldiers,  whereupon  Mis- 

[283] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

tress  Knox,  sword  and  all,  went  her  way  without 
losing  time. 

Wnen  the  girl  deemed  that  her  hand  had  done 
its  duty,  she  withdrew  it  gently,  and,  with  a 
pretty  word  or  two  of  thanks  for  his  solicitude, 
left  the  soldier  in  the  road  wondering  at  the  ways 
of  American  maidens. 

That  afternoon,  during  a  trip  to  her  uncle's 
warehouse,  Constance  chanced  to  see  the  arrival 
of  the  Cerberus  in  the  harbor,  with  reinforce- 
ments of  troops  and  of  generals  —  for  no  less 
than  three  eminent  and  lavishly  bedecked  officers 
stepped  from  the  long  boat  at  Mr.  Hancock's 
wharf  and  were  received  with  martial  music  and 
loud  huzzas:  Howe,  Clinton  and  Burgoyne. 
They  were  good  to  look  upon,  surely,  and  the 
girl  had  heard  of  their  prowess,  yet  she  was  by 
no  means  as  awed  as  she  had  expected.  She 
had  seen  scarlet  and  gold  flying  from  russet 
brown,  and  the  picture  was  yet  vivid  in  her  mind. 

She  had  hurried  from  the  scene  to  Province 
House  to  see  Mrs.  Gage,  with  a  message  from 
her  aunt  primarily,  but  also  because  she  believed 
it  would  be  well  to  keep  in  touch  with  the  Gov- 
ernor's household,  and  finally  because  she  liked 
the  kind  and  gentle  lady.  But  her  visit  was 
ill-timed,  for  no  sooner  had  she  arrived  than  the 
three  generals,  escorted  hither  by  an  imposing 
•yuard,  also  reached  Province  House,  to  make 
their  official  call  on  Gage.  Constance  made  a 
rather  hurried  adieu,  ana  slipped  out  to  the  hall 
in  the  midst  of  the  ceremony. 

"What,  sir,"  she  heard  one  of  the  new  ar- 

[2341 


"A  SPY  INDEED" 

rivals,  a  pursy,  red-faced,  shrewd-eyed  man, 
say  to  the  Governor,  "ten  thousand  peasants 
keep  five  thousand  King's  troops  shut  up  ?  Now 
we're  in,  we'll  soon  find  elbow-room."  It  was 
Burgoyne,  the  optimist,  as  always  underrating 
opposition  until  proper  realization  was  too  late. 
Constance  smiled  as  she  heard  it. 

Suddenly  she  found  the  voices  over  her  head 
as  she  stood  at  the  doorsteps.  Gage,  Percy, 
and  Burgoyne  had  passed  from  the  large  win- 
dow and  now  stood  on  the  roof  of  the  portico. 
The  Governor  was  armed  with  an  immense  spy- 
glass which  he  used  as  a  pointer  for  the  benefit 
of  Burgoyne,  who  was  viewing  American  shores 
for  the  first  time.  Especially  did  he  call  the 
newcomer's  attention  to  Dorchester  Heights, 
over  to  their  right. 

"Those  heights,  and  those  of  Charlestown," 
said  Percy,  with  a  tone  of  immense  conviction, 
"are  the  keynotes  of  the  situation." 

"What  is  your  opinion?"  asked  Gage,  turn- 
ing to  Burgoyne. 

Why  do  you  say  so,  my  Lord?"   queried 
Burgoyne. 

" Because,"  replied  the  Earl,  "with  the  heights 
in  our  possession,  the  rebels  would  be  unable  to 
make  a  demonstration  against  the  town." 

"Lord  Percy  is  right,  General,"  said  Bur- 
goyne, earnestly,  sweeping  the  arc  of  the  horizon 
with  the  telescope. 

"Then,"  declared  the  Governor,  "the  heights 
of  Dorchester  must  be  fortified,  and  speedily." 

Other  news,  and  not  all  so  pleasant  for  the 

[235] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

British,  Constance  heard  in  her  tours  through 
the  town    and    from    Pompey   and   Dr.    Gair. 


She  learned  how  the  Patriots  had  gone  to  drive 
some  stock  from  Hog  and  Noddles  Island;  how 
the  British  had  sent  a  sloop  and  soldiers  to  pre- 
vent it;  how  the  Americans  under  Putnam,  and 
with  Dr.  Warren  as  a  volunteer,  had  attacked 
and  disabled  the  sloop  in  a  two-days'  battle, 
killing  fifteen  of  the  enemy  and  losing  none  them- 
selves, and  how  a  few  days  later  they  had  swooped 
down  upon  Petticks  and  Deer  islands,  carrying 
off  over  a  thousand  sheep.  Indeed,  it  needed 
not  the  wildly  excited  anecdotes  of  Pompey  nor 
the  curtly  sarcastic  recitals  of  the  surgeon  to 
purvey  the  news;  the  whole  town  rang  with  the 
dash  and  audacity  of  the  Patriots,  and  the 
regulars,  shut  in  and  inactive,  chafed  at  the 
ignominy. 

One  day,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  uproar,  Bar- 
bara Brandon  came  hastening  to  the  Romney 
mansion  with  a  new  manifestation  of  that  ner- 
vousness that  had  transformed  her  from  the 
placid  Puritan  maid  to  the  more  appropriate 
product  of  the  times.  She  was  not  communi- 
cative at  first,  and  fidgeted  with  the  knitting 
she  had  brought,  until  Constance's  half-banter 
at  last  struck  fire. 

"You  may  as  well  tell,  you  know,  Bab,"  said 
the  girl,  "for  you  will  before  you  go.  Out  with 
it,  child." 

"I  —  I  have  heard  from  John,  Connie,"  she 
blurted. 

"So  ho!     That's  what's  made  your  soul  al- 

[236] 


"A  SPY  INDEED" 

most  bubble  out  of  your  body?     He  is  quite 
well  again?" 

Little  Barbara  looked  at  her  friend  with  quick 
keenness.  What  was  there  in  the  tone  that 
made  the  question  seem  momentous  ? 

"Aye,"  she  replied,  proudly,  "and  he  has  a 
commission  in  the  American  army." 

Constance's  eyes  flashed,  whether  with  an- 
swering pride  or  some  lingering  bit  of  old-time 
Toryism  she  herself  could  scarcely  have  told. 

"A  commission?  Who,  pray,  can  give  it?" 
she  asked. 

"The  Continental  Congress,"  said  Barbara, 
with  much  dignity. 

"Oho,  I  see.    Well,  who  brought  you  news?" 

"That  I  may  not  tell  you." 

"  Secrets  ?     From  me  ?     You  ?  " 

"I  have  none,  dear,  but  this  is  another's." 

"Of  course,  I  know  your  brother  would  not 
trust  me,"  was  the  rather  bitter  comment. 

'  'Tis  not  his  fault  exactly,"  returned  the  little 
girl  so  seriously  that  Constance  dropped  the 
subject. 

"She  will  confide  in  me  sooner  or  later,"  was 
her  wise  conclusion,  and  it  was  amply  justified, 
for  on  the  day  that  Gage  issued  his  proclamation 
offering  pardon  to  all  "rebels"  who  should  lay 
down  their  arms,  excepting  those  arch-traitors, 
Hancock  and  Adams,  Barbara  came  to  see  her 
friend  in  a  more  highly  excited  state  than  ever. 

'You  have  seen  the  proclamation,  Con- 
stance?" she  asked  impetuously. 

'Yes,"  was  the  drily  deliberate  reply. 

[437] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"  And  its  threats  of  punishment  to  Adams  and 
Hancock!" 

"  Gage  had  better  catch  them  first,"  said  Con- 
stance. 

Little  Bab  sighed  dolefully,  and  was  so  plainly 
cast  into  the  depths  of  mental  trouble,  that  Mis- 
tress Drake  broke  a  resolution  she  had  made, 
and  asked  her  pointblank  what  was  the  matter. 
Then  the  girl  broke  down. 

"Oh,  Constance,  I  don't  know  what  to  do," 
she  wailed;  "they  expect  so  much  and  I  can  do 
so  little.  You'll  not  betray  me,  will  you,  if  I 
tell  you  the  truth?" 

"No,  Barbara,"  was  the  earnest  reply,  "and 
maybe  I  can  help  you.  What  is  it,  dear  ?  Tell 
me." 

Then  Barbara  threw  down  the  gates  of  her 
reserve  with  evident  gladness  and  related  how 
Tobias  Gookin  had  been  in  hiding  at  her  father's 
house  ever  since  he  had  swum  from  Charlestown 
to  Boston  under  cover  of  the  excitement  down  the 
harbor,  and  how  he  would  not  leave  until  certain 
conditions  had  been  carried  out. 

"What  did  he  come  for?"  asked  Constance, 
vastly  interested. 

"  With  a  message  to  me." 

"  From  your  brother  ?  " 

'Yes.  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  and  that's  my 
trouble!" 

"What  is?     Do  explain,  child." 

Then  Barbara  said  that  Gookin  had  delivered 
this  message  orally,  for  fear  of  the  danger  in 
writing:  "Your  woman's  wit,  already  proved, 

[238] 


"A  SPY  INDEED'* 

should  be  alert  to  warn  us  of  the  British  plans. 
Gookin  is  faithful,  and  will  bring  your  message." 

"Those  were  the  very  words,  Connie;  I  know 
them  better  than  my  A,  B,  C's.  How  can  I  do 
aught?" 

"Have  you  tried  Ensign  Cuyler?" 

"He  knows  nothing,'    replied  the  girl,  sadly. 

"  I  scarcely  think  he  d  fancy  such  an  estimate." 

But  Barbara's   mind   was  too   intense  upon 
other  things  to  notice  the  bit  of  wicked  levity. 
'Long  Toby'  says,"  she  continued  - 

"Who?  Oh,  yes,  I  know  —  Tobias  Gookin. 
Well?" 

"He  says  the  Patriots  fear  the  British  fortify- 
ing of  some  hill  - 

"A  hill?"  interrupted  Constance. 

Barbara  nodded. 

Mistress  Drake  bethought  herself  of  the  little 
scene  on  the  portico  of  Province  House,  and  the 
advice  of  Percy  to  General  Burgoyne.  As  she 
glanced  from  one  of  the  west  windows  she  saw 
that  a  group  of  officers  who  had  been  dining 
with  the  Earl  next  door  were  on  the  point  of  leav- 
ing the  house.  The  next  move  was  very  clear. 

"Barbara,"  said  the  girl,  peremptorily,  "do 
you  go  to  my  room  and  rest.  I  —  well,  I'll  try 
and  do  something  —  since  your  brother  makes 
a  spy  of  you." 

Then,  with  her  most  coquettish  hat  and  a 
fetching  smile,  she  sallied  into  the  garden,  where 
again  her  roses  were  in  the  full  blush  of  beauty 
and  fragrance.  And  walking  among  them  she 

[239] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

sang  a  light  ditty  or  two,  very  cheerful  and  pleas- 
ant to  hear. 

So  thought  my  Lord  Percy  as  he  sauntered 
forth  from  his  house  and  approached  the  flower- 
laden  fence  that  separated  the  two  estates.  And 
it  was  but  natural  that  the  two  should  talk  pleas- 
antly about  the  forwardness  of  the  early  summer, 
and  other  things  that  somehow  led  at  last  to  the 
state  of  the  town. 

"This  siege,  as  they  call  it,"  observed  Con- 
stance, with  a  pretty  frown,  "is  not  amusing. 
I  had  thought  it  would  have  been  raised  e'er 
this." 

"Others  were  of  your  mind,"  returned  Percy, 
with  a  smile. 

"  If  I  were  a  man  and  a  general  - 

"  Well,  if  you  were  —  which  Heaven  forbid  - 
what  would  you  do,  Mistress  Drake?" 

"I'd  march  some  troops  to  yonder  heights, 
and  lodge  them  there  secure.  Then  the  — 
the  rebels  would  have  to  fall  back  or  cannon  are 


no  use." 


"  Even  the  women  —  or,  at  least,  the  clever 
women  —  see  it,"  thought  Percy,  with  a  look  of 
admiration  at  the  beautiful  flushed  face  and 
shining  eyes.  "Well,"  he  said,  "for  the  credit 
of  the  service,  Mistress  Drake,  I  may  say  your 
tactics  are  not  unknown  at  headquarters." 

"  General  Gage  has  —  has  considered  such  a 
plan?" 

"Long  ago.  'Tis  the  very  rudiment  of  war- 
fare, mistress." 

"Well,  then,"  asked  the  girl,  earnestly,  "why 

[240] 


"A  SPY  INDEED" 

is  it  neglected  and  we  poor  creatures  cooped  up 
here  like  —  like  caged  magpies." 

"Larks  or  nightingales,  mistress,  not  mag- 
pies," observed  tne  Earl,  with  a  courtly  bow. 

"As  well  magpies  as  larks,  if  caged,"  she  per- 
sisted, pouting. 

"Reassure  yourself,"  replied  Percy,  heartily, 
"your  plan  of  campaign  is  —  well,  not  neglected. 
When  you  rise  a  week  from  to-day,  look  toward 
Dorchester  Heights." 

With  the  excuse  of  household  duties,  Con- 
stance left  her  roses  and  her  gallant  informant, 
and  sought  out  Barbara. 

"Hurry  home,  Bab,"  she  said,  "and  tell  your 
brother's  messenger,  Gage  will  take  Dorchester 
Heights  on  Sunday  at  the  latest." 

Tne  little  girl's  eyes  grew  round  with  wonder. 

"  Why  —  now  -    "  she  began. 

"No  matter.  Since  your  brother  makes  a 
spy  of  you,  I,  your  friend,  must  help  you  out." 

"A  spy?  Why  not?"  she  mused,  after  her 
friend's  hurried  and  joyous  departure.  "They 
are  as  necessary  as  soldiers.  Besides,  a  woman 
cannot  fight." 


Saturday's  dawn  was  ushered  in  by  the  heavy 
booming  of  cannonading  from  the  harbor.  Con- 
stance, and  Barbara,  who  had  slept  with  her, 
awoke  at  the  first  solemn  warning.  The  former 
jumped  from  the  bed  and  ran  to  her  window. 
The  only  living  creature  visible  was  Pompey  in 
the  garden  below. 

[2411 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"See  what  it  is,  Pompey,"  she  commanded. 

The  dark  Mercury  lost  no  time,  for  in  ten 
minutes  more  he  was  in  the  garden  again  calling 
up  to  the  window:  "Missy  Constance,  here's 
yer  Fido's  Acaters  back  ag'in." 

'Yes,  yes,"  Constance  returned  impatiently. 
"  What  is  the  cause  of  the  firing  ?" 

"Dose  contraption  rebels,  missy,  have  done 
gone  and  built  up  a  big  fort  on  Bunker  Hill,  an' 
de  cap'n  ob  de  Lively  ne's  a-tryin'  - 

But  his  further  words  were  wasted  on  the  rose- 
scented  air,  for  "missy"  had  leaped  into  her 
soft  bed  again  and  was  hugging  the  astonished 
Barbara  with  all  her  might. 

"Why,  Constance,"  exclaimed  the  little  girl, 
"I  do  believe  you're  glad!" 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  observe  that?  You 
must  be  a  spy  indeed!" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
The  Battle  of  Bunker  Hill 

THE  cannonading  on  the  morning  of  this 
seventeenth  of  June  was  so  heavy  that  the 
people  of  Boston,  accustomed  as  they  had  grown 
to  these  major  sounds  of  war,  were  roused  from 
sleep  and  frightened  not  a  little.  It  soon  be- 
came known  that  the  American  troops  had 
seized  Breed's  Hill  in  Charlestown,  and  it  was 
by  no  means  certain  that  they  would  not  use 
whatever  artillery  they  possessed  against  the 
Tory  town. 

Presently,  however,  the  firing  ceased  for  a 
time,  only  to  break  out  again  witn  greater  feroc- 
ity from  the  six-gun  battery  on  Copp's  Hill,  and 
from  the  warships  in  the  harbor.  Besides  the 
Somerset,  the  Cerberus,  the  Glasgow,  the  Lively, 
the  Falcon,  and  the  Symmetry,  there  were  several 
floating  batteries,  making  in  all  a  formidable 
armada.  During  the  forenoon  a  flood  tide 
enabled  these  batteries  to  be  brought  into  favor- 
able positions  for  attacking  the  Americans, 
toiling  with  frenzied  haste  on  their  hill  en- 
trenchments. 

Meanwhile,  the  town  rang  with  the  fury  of 
the  preparation  for  battle.  The  rattling  of 
artillery  carriages,  the  galloping  of  horses,  the 

[243] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

shouts  of  officers,  and  the  yelling  of  fifes  made  a 
fit  accompaniment  to  the  somber,  hollow  pro- 
fundo  of  that  terrible  song  on  the  water,  out 
as  yet  no  answering  fire  came  from  Breed's. 

Constance  Drake's  household  duties  kept  her 
indoors  till  noon.  But  she  had  been  chafing  like 
a  panther  under  the  confinement  while  the  whole 
world  was  in  a  ferment  outside,  and  as  soon  as 
her  work  was  done,  she  announced  her  intention 
of  going  forth  with  Pompey  and  Barbara  to  the 
Beacon  Hill,  whither  a  great  stream  of  men  and 
women  had  been  hurrying  past  the  house. 

"  Lawk-a-mercy,  child,  '  cried  Aunt  Tabitha, 
in  utter  dismay,  "stay  within,  I  beg.  Who 
knows  but  a  snot  might  kill  you  where  you 
stand  ?  Say  she  shall  not  go,  Giles." 

"Nay,  Tabitha,"  he  replied,  "if  shots  are  to 
be  flying,  may  we  not  get  one  here  in  the  house  ? 
Would  I  myself  could  go,  but  since  'tis  impos- 
sible, Connie  shall  be  my  eyes  and  ears  against 
her  return." 

So  the  two  girls,  with  their  sable  protector, 
hurried  across  the  Common.  On  tneir  way 
Constance  was  glad  enough  to  fall  in  with  Dan 
MacAlpine,  whose  blood  nad  been  fired  by  the 
stirring  events  of  the  morning,  and  in  whose 
eyes  the  lust  of  warfare  shone  with  a  new  bril- 
liancy. 

From  the  point  of  vantage  that  the  old  fenc- 
ing-master picked  for  them,  the  little  party 
could  see  the  complete  and  splendid  panorama 
of  blue  waters,  green  hills,  sandy  shores,  and 
clustering  housetops.  On  every  roof,  it  seemed, 

[244] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BUNKER  HILL 

were  groups  of  human  beings  perched  high  to 
witness  the  awful  game  of  blood  that  was  in- 
evitable. Fort  Hill,  too,  was  black  with  people. 
Down  upon  all  shone  a  hot  sun  that  sparkled 
upon  the  wavelets  in  the  harbor  like  cut  crystal. 

Over  on  the  Charlestown  peninsula,  green 
and  smiling  save  for  the  houses  that  clustered 
along  the  southern  shore  under  its  hills,  could 
be  seen  an  activity  like  that  of  ants.  On  Breed's 
the  brown  clots  of  flying  earth  were  spouting  up 
with  ceaseless  energy,  marking  the  spot  where 
the  Patriots  were  digging  their  earthworks. 

MacAlpine  pulled  out  the  sections  of  his  large 
telescope  and  pointed  the  instrument  toward  the 
top  of  the  hill,  where  an  occasional  solid  shot 
from  a  British  gun  was  tearing  up  the  slopes 
viciously. 

"Be  the  powers,  the  Yankees  are  working 
like  bavers,  Misthress  Constance,'*  he  exclaimed. 
"If  the  rid  divils  don't  shtir  their  shtumps, 
there'll  be  an  intrinchmint  there  that  can't  be 
carried,  and  that's  all  about  it." 

"The  — the  English  will  attack,  you  think?" 
asked  Constance,  excitedly.  This  grim  and 
methodical  work,  this  suspense  of  the  noonday, 
this  spectacular  waiting  of  a  people  to  see  broth- 
ers in  race  slaughter  one  another,  was  hard  to 
endure. 

"Will  they  attack,  say  ye?"  returned  the 
fencer,  emphatically.  "They  will  thot,  for 
they're  all  brave  min  togither.  An'  whin  they 
do—' 

[245] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"But  where  are  they  —  the  British,  I  mean ?" 
persisted  the  girl. 

"  Down  be  the  wharves  whither  Oi  saw  'em 
marchin'  before  Oi  met  ye.  There  was  tin  ould 
companies  of  Grenadiers,  and  the  Fifth  an' 
Thirty-Eighth  as  well  as  the  Fifty-Second  an' 
Forty-Third  —  a  fine  lot  o'  souldiers.  They 
sh'u'dbeimbarkin'bethis. . . .  Ah,  look  ye  there!" 

Constance  followed  the  direction  of  the  old 
soldier's  finger,  and  saw  what  made  her  pulses 
stir  with  emotion.  For  crawling  lazily  out  over 
the  shimmering  water,  as  if  from  under  the  very 
roofs  of  the  North  End,  poked  the  noses  of  sev- 
eral barges  —  three,  four,  then  a  dozen,  looking 
like  great  red  insects  with  their  solid  masses  of 
scarlet.  From  some  of  those  in  the  lead  came 
the  flash  of  brass  field-pieces  as  they  swerved 
in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  along  the  sides  of  all 
the  glitter  of  oars  when  they  left  the  water  with 
each  completed  stroke. 

From  the  warships,  two  of  which  had  just  be- 
fore silently  pushed  their  way  up  the  river 
between  Boston  and  Charlestown,  now  burst  a 
furious  cannonading  to  protect  the  crossing  and 
landing  of  the  troops.  Constance  watched  with 
fascinated  eyes  the  flashes  that  leaped  from  the 
wooden  walls,  then  the  smoke  that  rose  like  a 
pall,  almost  blurring  the  sun.  It  was  so  amaz- 
ing to  her  to  hear  the  reports  after  —  it  seemed 
long  after  —  the  flame  had  told  of  the  departure 
of  each  messenger  of  death.  But  on  went  the 
boats  filled  with  soldiers,  and  there  was  no  an- 
swering fire  from  the  hills.  Nothing  was  to  be 

[246] 


seen  there  but  the  unceasing  toil  with  shovel 
and  pick. 

One  by  one  the  barges  drew  up  on  the  shores 
of  Moulton's  Point,  and  one  by  one  they  cast 
forth  their  red-coated  cargo,  pushed  back  into 
the  water  and  turned  toward  Boston  for  more 
troops.  Gradually  their  thin  red  lines  took 
shape  along  the  point,  their  front  toward  Breed's 
Hill,  and  then  there  was  a  long  halt. 

"Why  don't  they  go  on?"  asked  simple  Bar- 
bara, who  was  viewing  all  this  pageantry  with 
the  childish  delight  of  one  who  nad  never  seen 
bloodshed. 

"Arrah,  lass,  why  don't  they?"  echoed  Mac- 
Alpine.  "  Oi'll  tell  ye  why.  They're  afeared  to 
go  there  without  more  min.  Ye'll  see." 

And  before  long  they  found  that  their  mentor 
was  right.  Howe,  by  some  wonderful  pre- 
science, felt  that  behind  those  rapidly  mounting 
earthworks  above  him  was  a  force  to  be  reck- 
oned with  only  by  an  awful  outpouring  of  blood, 
and  he  had  sent  to  Gage  for  reinforcements. 
But  it  was  nearly  an  hour  before  they  began  to 
cross  the  stream. 

"An'  shpakin'  of  reinforcemints,"  resumed 
MacAlpine,  "Oi  wonder  why  the  divil  some 
don't  come  from  the  big  ar-r-my  at  Cambridge 
for  those  byes  on  the  hill.  An'  yet  perhaps  they 
expicted  the  redcoats  —  an'  Oi'm  no  longer  one 
of  them,  thank  God  —  to  land  at  Charlestown 
Neck,  whin  they  w'u'd  be  betwane  two  fires,  one 
from  the  raydoubt,  an'  one  from  the  min  from 

[Ml] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Cambridge.  That  must  be  it,  bedad,  and  yit 
— Oi  wish  something  w'u'd  turn  up." 

But  if  there  was  inactivity  with  the  troops, 
there  was  none  with  the  artillery.  Crashing 
with  a  hundred  thunders,  the  bombardment 
against  the  Patriots  went  on  from  ships,  flotillas, 
and  land  batteries.  But  only  once  was  there  a 
retaliation  from  those  desperate  workers  across 
the  water.  Stung  by  an  especially  fierce  fire, 
the  American  battery  near  the  redoubt  opened 
on  Copp's  Hill,  and  their  aim  was  good  in  so  far 
as  the  eminence  itself  was  concerned.  Seven 
or  eight  shots  found  a  mark,  one  tearing  through 
an  old  house,  another  wrecking  a  fence,  and  the 
rest  ploughing  viciously  into  the  side  of  the  hill. 
But  the  battery  was  unscathed. 

"Not  so  bad,  not  so  bad,"  cried  MacAlpine,  as 
if  to  encourage  the  distant  gunners,  "  but,  faith, 
it's  nothin'  to  what  the  byes  '11  do  with  their 
muskets,  moind  ye.  ...  Ah,  what's  thot,  now  ?" 

The  girls  quickly  saw  what  had  attracted  the 
old  soldier's  eye.  Far  out  on  the  right  wing  of 
the  scarlet  lines  near  Moulton's  Point  there 
was  a  stir,  a  movement,  and  then  a  steady  sweep 
of  a  smaller  red  strip  along  the  shore  of  the  Mys- 
tic. Old  Dan's  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  he  seized 
his  telescope. 

"A  flank  movement,  be  jabers!"  he  shouted, 
while  the  people  in  the  vicinity,  Tories  for  the 
most  part,  with  here  and  there  a  sprinkling  of 
rather  subdued  Patriots  and  an  invalided  officer 
or  two,  stared  at  him  in  amazement.  "Look 
out,  ye  byes  on  the  hill;  don't  let  thim  do  it." 

[248] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BUNKER  HILL 

And  then,  as  if  his  advice  had  been  wafted 
over  to  the  redoubt,  a  detachment  of  men  with  a 
couple  of  field-pieces  was  seen  moving  out  from 
behind  the  breastworks  and  was  lost  to  view 
behind  the  slope. 

Not  long  after,  a  dark,  irregular  mass  moving 
over  Chariestown  Neck  was  picked  up  by  the 
fencing-teacher's  glass,  and  he  roared  his  in- 
formation again  for  the  benefit  of  his  neighbors. 

"  Reinforcemints,  be  the  powers,"  he  cried, 
"  an'  it's  toime,  lads,  it's  toime.  Come  on,  now, 
come  on;  niver  ye  moind  the  big  guns.  Ye're 
needed  in  the  raydoubt." 

And  on  they  did  come,  royally  and  bravely, 
in  the  face  of  furious  enfilading  fire  from  the 
ships  up  the  river.  They  lost  tneir  formation, 
but  not  their  legs,  and  they  ran  recklessly  on  till 
they  reached  the  hill.  Constance  learned  after- 
wards it  was  the  regiment  of  Col.  John  Stark. 

And  still  the  brilliant  lines  at  Moulton's  Point 
remained  unbroken  and  the  brown  mounds  on 
Breed's  Hill  grew  with  each  succeeding  minute. 
It  was  now  nearly  three  o'clock  and  nothing  had 
been  done. 

"Oh,  will  they  never  move?"  exclaimed  Con- 
stance. She  was  wearied  and  half  sick  from  the 
suspense,  and  felt  that  something  must  soon 
happen  or  she  would  go  mad. 

And  then  came  the  expected,  ushered  in  by  a 
roar  of  artillery  that  made  all  the  other  war- 
sounds  of  the  day  feeble  by  comparison.  From 
half  a  dozen  different  points  cannon  belched 
their  iron  spheres,  each  trained  toward  one  cen- 

[249] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

tral  point  —  the  zig-zag  lines  of  dark  earth  that 
crowned  the  hill.  A  few  puffs  of  heavy  smoke 
from  the  redoubt  told  01  defiance,  but  even 
they  quickly  subsided. 

'  Now,  thin,  Misthress  Connie,"  exclaimed 
MacAlpine,  "  the  game's  begun.  Here  —  the 
glass.  Train  it  on  the  ridcoats,  an'  follow  thim 
along." 

The  girl  took  the  telescope,  and  leveled  it  at 
the  regulars.  Already  the  three  red  lines  were 
slowly  moving  forward  toward  the  hills.  Through 
the  lush  grass  of  the  hay-fields  and  over  the 
fences  they  laboriously  made  their  way,  ham- 
pered by  their  laden  knapsacks,  their  heavy 
uniforms,  and  the  heat  of  the  sun. 

After  a  little,  Constance  saw  the  right  wing 
swerve  to  the  northwest  —  Howe's  command,  as 
she  later  learned  —  while  the  left,  under  Pigot, 
wheeled  slowly  until  its  face  was  directed  at  the 
rude  redoubt,  still  unfinished.  The  artillery 
ahead  spat  viciously  for  a  little  and  then  ceased. 
It  could  do  no  harm  to  the  men  on  the  crest  of 
the  hill.  But  the  rolling  thunder  from  the  water 
never  ceased. 

On  came  the  left  wing,  more  rapidly  now  as 
the  shorter  grass  of  the  slopes  was  reached,  and 
with  the  beautiful  precision  of  men  trained  in 
the  fine-arts  of  war.  Before  Constance,  as  she 
swept  her  glass  in  unison  with  the  scarlet  ranks, 
arose  thoughts  of  many  a  dress  parade  of  these 
same  men,  and  again  of  that  ignominious  flight 
along  the  bloody  road  from  Lexington.  She 
held  her  breath  as  up  the  hill,  unchallenged, 

[250] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BUNKER  HILL 

unmolested,  unafraid,  rolled  the  lines  of  King 
George  the  Third,  king  in  America  no  longer. 

At  last  the  attacking  troops  were  so  near  the 
redoubt  that  it  seemed  to  the  thrilled  watchers 
as  if  but  the  width  of  a  street  were  between  them 
and  it.  And  still  no  fire  from  the  parapets! 

"Bah!"  exclaimed  one  of  the  wounded  officers 
near  by,  "the  rebels  have  deserted  their  works 
and  crawled  down  the  other  side  of  the  hill." 

"Bah,  ag'in,  thin,  liftinant,"  retorted  Mac- 
Alpine,  briskly,  "they're  wasthin'  no  powder, 
d'ye  moind.  The  byes  want  thim  so  near  that 
ivery  shot' 11  count.  .  .  .  Ah-h!" 

With  the  word,  triumphant,  vociferous,  a 
tremendous  and  terrifying  sheet  of  flame  burst 
straight  out  from  the  earthworks,  as  if  it  were 
hungering  to  burn  the  very  faces  of  its  foes. 
The  line  staggered,  shook  itself,  writhed  like 
some  great  serpent  in  the  throes  of  death,  then 
re-formed,  fired  one  volley,  and  sullenly  crept 
back  down  the  hill.  To  the  high-strung  girl 
who  watched  the  tragedy  came  a  great  exulta- 
tion, an  overmastering  pride  in  the  prowess  of 
her  countrymen  that  even  the  sight  of  the  little 
spots  of  red  picked  out  against  the  prevailing 
green  —  men  fallen  dead  in  their  tracks  —  could 
not  efface. 

"Be  jabers,  'tis  thrue!"  was  MacAlpine's 
curious  comment  on  the  result  of  the  onslaught. 

" What's  true?"  asked  someone. 

"What  Oi  heard  this  blissed  mornin'.  'Twas 
rayporthed  that  Warren  said  he  was  goin'  to  let 
no  mother's  son  av  'em  fire  till  they  saw  the 

[851] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

whites  o*  the  redcoats'  eyes.    An',  faith,  Oi  think 
they  obeyed  him,"  he  concluded  grimly. 

As  the  broken  ranks  of  the  regulars  formed 
for  another  charge,  a  great  pall  of  black  smoke 
suddenly  arose  from  the  houses  of  Charlestown, 
clustered  under  the  hill  near  the  water.  Shells 
from  the  British  batteries  on  Copp's  Hill  had 
fired  the  village  in  one  part,  while  marines  from 
the  Somerset  nad  played  the  incendiary  in  an- 
other. The  wind  spread  the  flames  rapidly,  and 
the  doom  of  the  little  town  was  sealed. 

The  breeze  that  fanned  the  flames  helped  the 
entrenched  Patriots,  in  that  it  blew  the  smoke 
down  upon  the  British  soldiers,  who  were  again 
in  order  and  apparently  waiting  the  command 
for  a  second  advance. 

And  now  the  eager  watchers  on  the  Beacon 
Hill  could  descry,  between  the  billows  of  smoke, 
another  forward  and  upward  swing  of  the  long 
strips  of  red  that,  with  magnificent  courage  and 
persistency,  went  against  certain  death.  Again 
that  awful  withholding  of  the  Patriots'  snots 
until  barely  fifty  yards  were  on  the  ground  be- 
tween the  redoubt  and  its  enemies,  and  again 
the  cruel,  devouring  plane  of  fire  that  crisped 
and  curled  and  flung  back  the  redcoats  like  a 
blast  from  some  titanic  furnace.  Down  over 
the  hill  they  went  in  greater  disorder  than  be- 
fore,  leaving  a  harrowing  number  of  dead  and 
wounded  on  the  upper  field.  So  long  was  the 
delay  this  time  that  one  of  the  spectators  volun- 
teered the  opinion  that  the  British  had  aban- 
doned the  attempt  to  take  the  works. 

[252] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BUNKER  HILL 

"Notthim,"  said  MacAlpine  grimly.  "They're 
divils  for  bullets,  look  ye,  an'  bulldogs  for  hangin' 
on.  They'll  thry  a  third  toime,  at  laste." 

The  old  fencer  took  the  telescope  from  Con- 
stance's wearied  arms  and  swept  the  waters  of 
the  harbor  and  the  Charles  with  careful  scrutiny. 
He  was  looking  for  possible  reinforcements  from 
Boston,  but  none  came.  Only,  as  he  gazed,  he 
caught  sight  of  a  long  boat  driven  at  high  speed. 
^Tis  Clinton,  faith,"  he  cried.  "Oi  can  tell 
that  by  his  flag  in  front.  He's  for  goin'  over  to 
rally  the  rigulars  and  perhaps  lead  thim  him- 
self. Now,  we'll  see  some  fun." 

Fun!  thought  Constance.  Fun,  with  that 
fair  hillside  mottled  with  the  blood  of  English- 
men, shed  by  the  bullets  of  other  Englishmen, 
only  a  little  removed;  fun,  that  would  wet  the 
cheeks  of  wives  and  mothers,  and  —  yes,  sweet- 
hearts—  with  tears  for  the  slain!  Fun,  that 
would  make  a  shambles  of  the  town  when  the 
mangled  were  brought  back!  Alas,  there  was 
horror  enough  and  to  spare  in  the  day's  doings,  yet 
spite  of  all  the  girl  could  not  control  delight  in 
tne  thought  that  the  star  of  liberty  was  thus  far 
in  the  ascendant. 

The  beginnings  of  the  third  struggle  were  now 
at  hand.  Through  his  glass  old  Dan  could  dis- 
cern the  casting  aside  of  knapsacks,  the  shifting 
to  column  instead  of  company  front,  and  the 
advance  of  the  artillery  around  the  northern 
side  of  the  hill,  where  it  began  to  pour  a  raking 
fire  on  the  rear  of  the  redoubt.  Then  on  swept 
the  more  solid  mass  of  men,  for  the  most  part 

[253] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

less  exposed  than  before,  up  the  sides  of  the 
slope. 

Some  of  the  British  from  Howe's  division 
swung  swiftly  from  around  the  base  of  the  hill, 
and  joined  the  attack  with  fury.  Up,  up,  pressed 
the  scarlet  columns  till  they  were  met  by  the  in- 
evitable impact  of  lead  from  the  breastworks. 
But  it  seemed  feebler  this  time,  and  the  attack- 
ing force,  though  it  swayed  and  staggered  and 
almost  lost  its  hold  on  the  eminence,  aid  not  re- 
treat. On  it  dashed,  reinforced  by  the  men 
behind,  over  the  dead  and  the  hurt,  spreading 
wider  and  wider,  till  it  seemed  like  a  broad 
stream  defying  gravity  and  flowing  up-hill 
against  and  over  a  dam,  as  its  separate  waves 
seized  upon  and  lapped  the  parapets  and  crossed 
them. 

Constance  gave  an  acute  cry  of  grief,  disap- 
pointment, pity.  Even  though  a  great  cloud 
of  dust  arose  from  the  redoubt  and  hid  the  con- 
flict from  view,  she  knew  that  a  terrible  struggle 
of  man  against  man,  of  musket-butt  against 
bayonet,  of  shovel  against  sword,  was  in  process 
in  that  pit  of  death.  And  at  last,  when  the 
standard  of  King  George  threw  its  red  folds  into 
the  breeze,  and  she  could  doubt  no  longer  that 
the  Patriot  force  had  been  driven  from  their 
works,  she  burst  into  tears. 

"There,  there,  Miss  Connie,  don't  take  on 
so,"  said  MacAlpine,  soothingly.  "The  byes 
were  o'ermatched  and  simply  haa  to  take  French 
leave,  that's  all.  Powther!  Bayonets!  How 
c'u'd  they  fight  longer  without  aither?  But 

[254] 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BUNKER  HILL 

Oi'll  warrant  ye  they  came  off  much  better  than 
the  ridcoats." 

"Aye,  friend,"  exclaimed  the  wounded  Brit- 
ish officer,  who  still  remained  near  the  party, 
"one  more  such  victory  and  we  are  undone.*' 

In  the  stillness  that  ensued  after  a  brief  period 
of  firing  at  the  retreating  Americans,  a  silence 
that  was  awful  with  its  intensity  after  the  tumult 
of  the  day,  the  girls  crept  home  together,  with 
white  faces. 

Barbara  was  the  first  to  speak.  "I  —  I  won- 
der whether  John  was  there,"  she  said. 

"Wherever  he  was,  he  was  doing  his  duty, 
dear,"  was  the  answer. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
An  Appeal  for  Aid 

BOSTON  that  night  was  a  town  of  terror  for 
those  of  weak  nerves,  and  sorrowful  enough 
for  the  most  unemotional.  From  sunset  to  sun- 
rise the  streets  reechoed  constantly  to  the  rum- 
bling of  carts,  the  rattling  of  chaises  and  the 
uncertain  tramp  of  men  bearing  stretchers,  all 
coming  from  the  wharves  laden  with  the  soldiers 
who  had  helped  win  the  redoubt  on  Bunker  Hill 
—  at  what  direful  cost ! 

Past  the  Romney  mansion  some  of  the  pitiful 
procession  made  its  way  during  the  night,  and 
the  cries  of  the  wounded,  jolted  and  swayed  into 
torture,  banished  all  sleep  from  Constance's 
bed.  She  arose  in  the  morning,  dispirited  and 
weary,  to  face  a  day  of  torrid  heat  and  scenes 
more  harrowing  than  the  sounds  of  the  night 
had  been.  On  almost  every  street  were  the 
visible  proofs  of  the  marksmanship  of  the  Pa- 
triots, as  the  torn  and  maimed  forms  of  British 
soldiers  were  borne  to  beds  of  refuge. 

Constance  heard  that  all  the  old  hospitals  had 
been  overcrowded  long  since,  and  that  the  work- 
house, the  almshouse,  and  many  warehouses  had 
been  filled.  She  knew  that  Colonel  Hancock's 
elegant  mansion  and  scarcely  less  imposing 

[256] 


AN  APPEAL  FOR  AID 

stable  had  been  turned  into  hospitals,  for  she 
could  see  the  little  expeditions  with  the  wounded 
going  across  to  the  noble  estate. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  girl  ventured  out  for  a 
breath  of  air  on  the  Common,  but  here,  too,  was 
only  sorrow  and  the  tokens  of  death,  for  large 
squads  of  men  were  digging  great  trenches  at  the 
bottom  of  the  enclosure,  into  which  Constance 
saw  tumbled,  with  little  ceremony,  some  of  yes- 
terday's slain,  to  remain  there  unnamed  forever. 

In  the  public  places  the  lamentations  of  the 
widowed  were  mingled  with  the  wild  cries  of 
Rumor,  giving  voice  to  every  kind  of  fanciful 
tale.  It  was  heard  that  the  fighting  remnant  of 
the  British  forces,  that  had  encamped  near  Bun- 
ker Hill  after  the  battle,  had  marched  to  Cam- 
bridge to  wreak  vengeance  on  the  Americans 
for  me  terrible  day's  work,  and  again  that  the 
Patriot  army  —  the  bitterest  Tory  no  longer 
hesitated  to  call  it  such  —  was  on  the  way  to 
Boston  to  destroy  the  demoralized  troops  who 
still  held  it.  To  give  color  to  these  stories  came 
heavy  cannonading  on  Sunday  from  the  ships  and 
batteries  and  from  Bunker  Hill.  But  the  Con- 
tinentals lay  inactive  out  beyond  the  Necks  of 
Charlestown  and  Roxbury,  nursing  their 
wounded,  and  pulling  themselves  together  after 
their  own  baptism  of  blood. 

On  Monday  morning,  Constance  sent  Pom- 
pey,  who  had  shown  a  curious  predilection  for 
the  cellar  of  the  stable  during  the  last  two  days, 
in  quest  of  Dan  MacAlpine,  and  that  stout  old 
solaier  was  a  grateful  sight  to  the  two  girls  when 

[257] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

he  stumped  briskly  into  the  house  an  hour  later, 
bringing  such  news  as  he  was  able  to  procure. 
"Tis  open  war  now  betwane  the  choild  and 
its  mother,"  he  observed,  "and  naught  but  in- 
dependince  can  iver  make  the  young  'un  frindly 
with  the  ould  lady  ag'in." 

"  How  do  the  —  the  British  feel  over  the 
battle?"  asked  Constance. 

"Like  whipped  min,  bedad,"  was  the  quick 
reply.  "Sure,  though  they  call  it  a  victhry,  'tis 
plain  to  see  they  belave  it  was  a  defate.  The 
officers  are  dumb,  and  the  min  hang  their  heads. 
An'  the  nervousness  of  thim,  faith,  twould  make 
ye  laugh." 

"Laugh!"  cried  Barbara,  her  round  eyes 
solemn  with  surprise.  "How  can  one  laugh  in 
these  dreadful  times?" 

"Oh,  well,  miss,  an  Oirishman  can  laugh  at 
any  toime,  maybe.  At  any  rate,  Oi  did  last  night 
up  on  the  B'acon  Hill.  There  were  several 
British  officers  up  there,  and  ivery  now  and  thin 
they  wud  duck  their  heads  as  if  something  was 
goin'  to  hit  'em.  At  lasht  Oi  asked  one  of  thim 
what  he  was  bowin'  so  often  for. 

"Bullets,  my  mon,'  says  he.  'Ye  can  hear 
'em  singin'  all  around  here.' 

'  *  Be  the  powers,'  says  Oi,  *  thin  'tis  the  first 
toime  that  iver  June  baytles  were  fired  from 
guns,'  Oi  says.  And  that's  what  they  were,  as 
sure  as  me  father  was  a  Cork  man." 

The  fencing-master  was  pleased  to  see  that 
his  little  story  of  an  actual  occurrence  brought  a 
smile  to  the  lips  of  the  daughter  of  his  old  com- 

[258] 


AN  APPEAL  FOR  AID 

mander.  He  would  have  ransacked  his  brain 
for  another  anecdote,  and  might  have  gone  to 
the  length  of  inventing  one  had  not  the  arrival  of 
Dr.  Gair  on  horseback  put  an  end  to  his  laud- 
able schemes. 

The  little  surgeon  was  pale  from  lack  of  sleep 
and  the  once  jolly  face  was  drawn  and  care- 
worn. Yet  he  dismounted  nimbly  and  greeted 
the  young  women  with  cheery  courtesy. 

"Ah,  MacAlpine,  you  here?"  he  cried,  catch- 
ing sight  of  the  swordsman.  "I  suppose  you 
are  telling  the  young  ladies  of  the  results  of  the 
murderous  day,  eh?" 

"Sich  as  Oi  know,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"Fools,  fools  on  both  sides,  MacAlpine. 
Foolhardiness,  not  war,  eh?" 

"Is  —  is  it  as  bad  as  they  say,  Doctor?" 
queried  Constance. 

"I  don't  know  what  they  say,  but  they  can't 
put  it  any  worse  than  it  is.  How  do  you  ac- 
count for  it,  MacAlpine  ?  You've  been  a  soldier. 
How  were  the  troops  —  well,  halted,  by  raw 
lads  and  old  men,  half  armed,  with  no  practise 
or  discipline,  commanded  without  order,  and 
God  knows  by  whom  ?" 

The  Irishman  looked  steadily  at  the  English- 
man with  something  of  deep  significance  in  his 
gaze.  Then  he  answered  in  a  low  and  reverent 
tone:  "Perhaps,  Docther,  there's  somethin'  in 
this  beyant  our  knowledge." 

"Eh?"  said  the  little  man,  sharply,  looking 
at  the  other's  forehead  as  if  attempting  a  diag- 

[259] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

nosis  of  his  thought.    "  Oh,  yes,  yes  —  perhaps 
you  are  right." 

"You  spoke  of  command,  Dr.  Gair,"  said 
Constance,  "Who  was  the  —  the  rebel  leader? 
I  have  heard  — " 

"Several  names?"  interrupted  the  surgeon, 
with  a  smile.  "No  doubt,  no  doubt.  There 
were  generals  in  the  field,  Warren  and  Putnam 
and  Pomeroy,  but  a  colonel  —  Prescott  they 
call  him  —  was  the  actual  chief." 

At  this  point,  Barbara,  whose  dainty  fingers 
had  been  nervously  twining  themselves,  projected 
herself  into  the  conversation. 

"Do  they — know  aught  of  the — the  losses?" 
she  asked  diffidently. 

"Oh!  Lieutenant  Cuyler  is  quite  safe,  I  can 
assure  you,"  replied  the  surgeon,  with  mischief 
in  his  eyes. 

Barbara  blushed,  but  did  not  quit  the  field. 
"Nay,  Doctor,  I  mean  of  the  —  other  side." 

"Oh,  your  brother,  Mistress  Barbara.  I 
crave  your  pardon,  young  lady.  No.  The 
mortality  must  have  been  tremendous,  but  save 
such  of  our  prisoners  as  have  died  we  know  no 
names,  save  Warren." 

"Dr.  Joseph  Warren?"  asked  Constance, 
quickly. 

'Yes.  A  brave  and  able  if  misguided  man. 
They  say  he  fell  at  our  last  charge.  As  for  our 
own  losses,  you  probably  have  heard  of  the 
deaths  of  Pitcairn,  Spendlove,  Addison,  and 
Sherwin.  I  fear  we  had  in  all  over  two  hundred 
killed,  and  I  know  there  are  nearly  a  thousand 

[260] 


AN  APPEAL  FOR  AID 

wounded.  From  what  we  can  learn,  the  rebels 
must  have  had  one  hundred  and  fifty  killed. 
God  knows  'twas  a  terrible  day  for  both  sides." 

Constance  was  afraid  that  she  could  ill  con- 
ceal her  grief  at  the  death  of  Warren,  whom  she 
now  knew  to  be  of  such  splendid  use  to  the  cause 
—  her  new  cause,  the  cause  of  home  against  in- 
vading force.  She  was  glad,  therefore,  when  Dr. 
Gair  called  her  apart. 

"  I've  chattered  here  too  long,"  was  his  method. 
"  I'll  for  a  look  at  your  uncle  with  you,  and  then 
back  to  the  hospital." 

Beyond  hearing  of  the  others,  he  spoke  what 
was  on  his  mind.  "Did  you  know  that  —  a 
friend  of  yours  —  has  been  wounded  —  dan- 
gerously wounded?"  he  asked,  gravely. 

For  a  moment  the  sun  seemed  to  have  de- 
serted the  earth,  as  the  girl  clutched  her  breast 
and  almost  reeled.  Then  she  straightened  to 
hear  the  worst. 

"Who?"  she  managed  to  utter,  her  lips  pale 
as  death. 

"Who  but  Lieutenant  Charlton?"  replied  the 
surgeon  kindly,  almost  fancying  he  saw  a  look 
of  relief  sweep  over  Constance  s  face,  but  dis- 
missing the  thought  as  absurd. 

"He  —  he  is  dangerously  wounded,  you  say  ?" 
'Yes.  And  his  wounds  are  such  that  nothing 
but  quiet  and  good  care  will  save  him." 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?"  she  queried  with  hon- 
est sorrow.  Charlton  had  been  a  manly  ad- 
mirer, a  sincere  friend,  and  a  real  helper  in  time 
of  dire  need. 

[2611 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"He  was  one  of  the  last  brought  in,"  replied 
Dr.  Gair,  "  in  fact,  he  lay  in  a  hollow,  and  it  was 
late  Sunday  afternoon  when  he  was  found. 

"How  terrible!" 

"The  hospitals  and  every  available  place  to 
be  turned  into  a  hospital  are  crowded,  and  — 
well,  they  are  quartering  some  of  the  wounded 
at  private  houses.  In  short,  would  you  not  pre- 
fer that  Lieutenant  Charlton  should  be  brought 
here  rather  than  some  stranger?" 

"  Of  course  I  would,"  was  the  reply. 


O 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
A  Copy  of  "Horace" 

UT  in  the  garden,  basking  in  the  warmth 
1  of  a  genial  September  sun,  sat  Giles  Rom- 
ney,  in  an  easy  chair,  his  pet  foot  propped  up  on 
a  little  stool.  He  was  rather  at  peace  with  the 
world  this  afternoon,  for  he  was  free  from  dis- 
comfort, the  times  were  relatively  quiet,  and  he 
had  just  heard  from  London  that  a  business 
venture  which  had  once  seemed  hopeless  had 
turned  out  to  be  a  lucrative  success.  So  he 
read,  and  drowsed,  and  dreamed  most  comfort- 
ably, and,  for  a  time,  forgot  the  war  and  all  that 
appertained  to  campaigning. 

As  he  roused  peacefully  from  a  specially  pleas- 
ant revery,  he  became  dimly  conscious  of  some- 
thing purple  and  pleasant  to  the  smell  dangling 
in  front  of  his  generous  and  ruddy  nose.  Grapes  ? 
But  a  queer  place  for  grapes,  because  he  knew 
that  all  the  vines  were  at  the  far  end  of  the  gar- 
den. And  yet  —  yes,  it  was  a  bunch  of  grapes. 
He  knew  grapes  when  he  saw  them,  even  though 
they  appeared  to  be  dangling  from  nothing  and 
in  mid-air. 

"Who  is  it?  Guess,  and  you  shall  have  the 
first  ripe  bunch  of  the  year.  Nay,  nay,  sirrah, 
no  peeping  .  .  .  who  'tis,  I  say!" 

[263] 


"Who  could  it  be,"  he  roared  heartily,  "but 
Connie  —  Connie  the  brave  —  Connie  the 
bright  —  Connie  the  - 

'^Connie  the  fiddledee!     I'm  not  bright.    'Tis 
only  affectation,  and  as  for  bravery,  I'm  affrighted 
of  every  shadow,  lest  it  be  a  rebel,  or  —  hush  - 
a  redcoat.  I'm  never  sure  which  I  fear  the  most." 

The  girl  laughed  merrily  at  her  jest,  and  her 
uncle  smiled  indulgently. 

"I'm  a  poor  old  carcass  at  best,  now,  Connie," 
he  said,  "but  thanks  to  you,  I'm  a  happier  man 
than  I  would  'a'  thought  possible  under  the  cir- 
cumstances." 

He  reached  out  for  the  girl's  pretty  hand  and 
clasped  it  warmly,  as  she  stooped  and  kissed  his 
cheek.  And  what  was  this  —  moisture  in  the 
old  fellow's  eyes  ? 

"I  haven't  said  much,  my  girl,"  he  resumed, 
"but  this  long,  fearful  summer  has  been  an 
awful  strain,  dearie.  To  see  your  aunt  and  you 
cooped  up  in  this  hole  of  a  town,  without  decent 
food  even." 

"I'm  sure,  uncle,  we've  fared  very  well," 
said  Constance,  cheerfully. 

But  Giles  Romney  was  not  entirely  cured  of 
his  habit  of  contradicting,  and  he  flared  up  a 
bit  at  this. 

"Fared  well?"  he  echoed  testily,  "do  you 
call  no  fresh  meat  for  a  for'night  faring  well? 
For  my  part,  I've  eaten  so  much  salt  provender 
that  I  can  realize  now  how  Lot's  wife  must  have 
felt." 

"You  forget  MacAlpine's  fish,  uncle." 

[264] 


A  COPY  OF  "HORACE" 

"True,  Dan  has  been  most  thoughtful.  But 
fish,  even  of  his  catching,  is  not  pleasant  as  steady 
diet." 

"But  there  are  those  who  would  be  glad  even 
of  that,"  said  Constance  gravely. 

"  I  suppose  so.  If  we,  with  money,  suffer  so, 
God  pity  the  poor!" 

Across  the  girl's  sunny  face  passed  a  cloud  of 
sadness,  and  men  was  gone;  she  was  young  and 
full  of  hopes  and  the  world  of  nature  was  fair. 
And  here  was  a  delicious  bunch  of  grapes  as  yet 
uneaten. 

"How  dare  you  talk  of  hunger  and  food,  sir," 
she  cried,  "when  you  have  not  touched  one  of 
these?  No,  no.  You  must  not  feed  yourself. 
I  shall  limit  you,  lest  you  prove  a  glutton.  Now, 
then,  open  your  mouth." 

So  one  by  one  the  luscious  dark  globes  were 
popped  into  their  proper  destination  by  the  tips 
of  Constance's  rosy  fingers,  and  the  merry  exer- 
cise was  interrupted  only  by  the  appearance  of 
Barbara  Brandon  at  the  garden  gate. 

"Good  afternoon,  Mistress  Barbara,"  cried 
Giles,  "you  are  just  in  time  to  see  the  animals 
fed." 

"And,"  said  Constance,  as  she  thrust  the  last 
grape  between  her  uncle's  teeth,  "just  too  late 
for  —  well,  you  know.  Yes,"  she  continued 
in  a  whisper,  "  he's  just  gone.  He  thought  you 
were  not  coming." 

"The  roses  still  bloom  in  your  cheeks,  Bar- 
bara, I  am  glad  to  see,"  remarked  the  old  man, 
kindly.  "Any  news  of  your  brother?" 

[*65] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"  Not  for  nearly  a  month,  at  least  not  directly. 
Not  since  the  last  skirmish  on  the  Neck." 

"Was  that  a  month  ago?  But  one  skirmish 
is  like  all  the  rest  to  me,  and  mercy  knows  they're 
common  enough.  .  .  .  Yes,  Pompey,  I'll  go  in 
now." 

As  soon  as  the  girls  were  left  alone:  "Well?" 
asked  Constance  significantly. 

"Well?"  echoed  Barbara  weakly. 

"You've  something  to  tell  me.  "Of  course 
you  have.  You  always  have  when  you  look  as 
you  do  now.  Oh,  I  know  your  downcast  eyes 
and  your  folded  fingers  and  your  air  of  inno- 
cence. Out  with  it,  Bab;  I'm  dying  for  news." 

"Well,  then,"  began  the  little  girl,  "did  you 
know  that  the  big  tree  opposite  the  market  had 
been  cut  down?" 

"The  *  Liberty  Tree '  ?"  exclaimed  Constance, 
"why,  what  — "  She  paused  as  she  felt  a  nudge 
from  her  friend,  and  a  soft  "  S-s-h."  Of  course, 
I  know  that,"  with  a  swift  change  of  tone,  "that's 
old  news.  'Twas  an  ugly  tree,  anyway." 

Both  girls  had  caught  sight  of  Capt.  Jack 
Mowatt's  sinister,  wine-flushed  face  over  the 
wall  that  separated  their  garden  from  Earl 
Percy's,  which  doubtless  accounted  for  their 
sudden  determination  to  go  indoors.  Even  the 
September  sunlight  seemed  less  mellow  with 
that  countenance  in  view. 

Within,  Barbara  was  for  making  upstairs  at 
once  to  Constance's  room,  but  her  friend  detained 
her  gently. 

"Hadn't  you  better  go  in  and  see  Lieutenant 

[866] 


A  COPY  OF  "HORACE" 

Charlton?"  she  suggested.  'You  know  you 
always  do,  and  now  that  Ensign  Cuyler  happens 
to  have  gone  —  well,  mightn  t  it  be  thought  a 
bit  peculiar?" 

The  pink  spreading  over  the  girl's  cheeks  told 
that  the  mischievous  shot  had  landed  fair,  and 
without  more  words  she  tripped  to  the  drawing- 
room,  which  had  been  given  to  the  occupancy 
of  the  British  officer,  who  was  now  just  able  to 
move  about  a  little  assisted  by  his  body-servant. 
To-day,  Barbara  found  him  reclining  on  a 
couch  near  a  window,  impatiently  drumming 
on  the  pane,  and  sighing  over  his  lost  activity. 
She  cheered  him  as  best  she  could,  then  went 
upstairs  to  join  Constance. 

The  latter  fairly  flew  at  her  little  friend  for 
sheer  curiosity. 

"The  news,  Barbara,"  she  cried,  "what  was't 
delayed  you?" 

"Toby  came  in  last  night,"  was  the  porten- 
tous reply. 

"Again?  Then  you  have  word  from  Jo  — 
your  brother?"  Barbara  nodded.  "But  you 
told  uncle  - 

"  I  saw  some  officers  in  Lord  Percy's  garden." 

"And  I  didn't.  You're  developing,  Bab. 
So  Gookin  brings  you  word.  He  is  well?" 

"Yes." 

"That  long-limbed  rustic  Patriot  must  be  a 
phantom,  he  eludes  sentries  so  cleverly." 

"Not  this  time,  Constance,"  was  the  sad  reply. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  A  sentry  fired  at  him  last  night." 

[267] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Not  —  not  killed?"   demanded   Constance. 

"  No,  but  helpless ;  a  shattered  bone.  Father 
thinks  it  a  miracle  he  was  able  to  drag  himself 
to  us." 

"Poor,  honest,  brave  fellow!  He  will  re- 
cover?" 

"Father  says  a  few  weeks  will  put  him  on  his 
feet  —  if  we  can  keep  him  hidden.  But  what 
will  John  think?" 

'The  truth,  or  something  near  to  it,"  was  the 
confident  answer.  .  .  .  "Nay,  nay,  don't  weep, 
dear." 

"  Oh,  but  I  —  I  feel  so  helpless,"  stammered 
Barbara,  her  lips  quivering,  'I — " 

Mistress  Drake  smiled  brightly.  Her  role  of 
comforter  to  the  weaker  girl  had  now  become 
second  nature  to  her. 

"For  a  helpless  girl,"  she  retorted,  "you're 
about  the  busiest  one  I  know.  Sheltering 
wounded  Patriots,  discovering  eavesdroppers, 
and  silencing  my  busy  tongue.  You  helpless, 
indeed!" 

"But  I  am,"  persisted  Bab;  "who's  to  do 
Toby's  work?" 

"And  what  is  Toby's  work  this  time?" 

"He  came  for  some  plans  and  a  book  for 
John." 

"A  book  and  plans.     What  are  they?" 

"The  book  is  his  'Horace." 

"Trumpery!"  cried  Constance.  "The  plans 
are  what  really  concern  us." 

"Indeed,  I'm  sure  he  does  want  the  book," 

[2681 


A  COPY  OF  "HORACE" 

said  Barbara,  indignantly.  "He  always  loved 
his  'Horace." 

"  H-m,  no  doubt,"  was  Mistress  Drake's  com- 
ment; "but  about  the  plans?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Neither  what  they  are  nor  where?" 

"No." 

"But  Toby  does?" 

"I  think  so." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  tune  of  a  rollicking 
Irish  jig  mingled  itself  with  the  click  of  the 
garden-gate.  Constance  ran  to  the  window. 

"Ah,  good-day  to  ye,  Dan  MacAlpine,"  she 
cried  heartily.  "What  do  I  see?  Empty- 
handed  ?  No  fish  for  supper?" 

"Whist,  mavourneen,  '  replied  the  former 
fencing-master;  "can  Oi  catch  fish  in  Quaker 
Lane  ?  If  Oi'm  lucky  Oi'll  bait  a  hook  to-morrow, 
though.  No  one  can  go  a-fishin'  without  a  pass, 
you  know,  and  Oi've  not  had  one  lately.  We'll 
soon  have  to  give  the  countersoign  ivery  toime 
we  brathe." 

"Come  within,  Dan,"  said  Constance.  "Bar- 
bara and  I  will  be  down  in  a  moment." 

She  turned  to  her  friend  again  with  all  serious- 
ness. 

'You  think  those  plans  —  and  the  'Horace' 
—  should  reach  your  brother  at  once?"  she 
asked. 

'Toby  says  'tis  most  important." 

"Bring  them  here  in  the  morning,  and  I  will 
see  that  they  reach  your  brother." 

"Why  —  how?"  was  the  astonished  query. 

[269] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"No  matter  how.  Indeed,  I  don't  know 
myself."  And  Constance  gaily  seized  Bab 
around  the  waist  and  dragged  her  to  the  stair- 
way so  rapidly  that  both  narrowly  escaped  going 
down  in  a  manner  not  approved  by  young 
women. 

After  a  long  and  earnest  conversation  with 
Constance,  from  which  Barbara  was  ruthlessly 
shut  out,  Mac  Alpine  went  off  down  Winter 
Street  whistling  the  self-same  jig,  but  in  a  slow 
and  perplexed  style.  As  he  turned  the  corner 
he  scratched  his  curly  head  vigorously. 

"Well,  O'ill  be  jiggered  for  a  hoss  marine!" 
he  said. 


[«70J 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
The  Fishing  Trip 

MACALPINE  was  early  astir  next  morning, 
and  the  favorite  corner  of  his  "  armory,  ' 
sadly  fallen  from  its  high  estate  and  great  popu- 
larity, since  now  that  war  was  on  no  one  took 
fencing  lessons  any  more,  rang  with  bits  of  song 
and  many  muttered  exclamations  which  would 
scarcely  have  been  illuminating  to  an  eaves- 
dropper. His  chief  occupation  seemed  to  be  the 
filling  of  a  couple  of  big  baskets  with  rather 
curious  things  for  a  fishing  trip.  Two  immense 
horse-pistols,  a  goodly  supply  of  food,  and  a 
great  jug  of  water  were  neatly  stowed  away, 
while  something  that  looked  like  a  curved  saber 
was  wrapped  up  in  oilcloth. 

These  preparations  were  about  completed 
when  the  little  figure  of  George  Robert  Twelves 
Hewes  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  stairway  of 
the  loft.  That  diminutive  worthy  had  wel- 
comed MacAlpine's  suggestion  that  the  two  go 
a-fishing,  for  times  were  hard  and  an  honest 
shilling  very  welcome.  But  he  expressed  him- 
self oracularly,  as  usual,  as  dubious. 

"  Passes  are  monstrous  hard  to  get,  friend  Mac- 
Alpine,"  he  said,  "and  I  fear  you'll  not  be  per- 

[271] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

mitted  to  go  out.  Why,  I  myself  was  refused 
only  two  days  agone." 

*  Begorra,  if  the  admiral  rayfuses  me,"  said 
the  veteran,  "  Oi'll  go  to  Gage  himsilf .  As  if  an 
ould  soldier  musht  sntarve  to  death  for  want  av  a 
few  fish !  Besoides,Oi  niver  found  them  rayfusin' 
a  good  fresh  cod  or  two  at  the  Governor's." 

They  proceeded  to  the  wharf  as  if  there  were 
no  doubt  about  the  matter,  and  soon  had  every- 
thing prepared  for  the  trip.  Only  as  Hewes 
was  about  to  stow  his  basket  in  the  little  cuddy- 
hole  forward,  all  the  pinky  could  boast  in  the  way 
of  a  cabin,  old  Dan  interfered. 

"Not  there,  Hewes,"  he  ordered. 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  Oi've  jist  a  raisin,"  was  the  placid  re- 
sponse. "Now,  come  with  me  to  the  admiral." 

At  Lord  Howe's  headquarters  on  Fort  Hill, 
MacAlpine  found  no  difficulty  in  getting  ad- 
mission to  the  office.  The  admiral,  a  portly, 
pompous  man  with  a  big,  curling  wig,  a  ruby 
nose  and  a  keen  eye,  withal,  was  inclined  to  be 
good-humored,  but  he  was  none  the  less  cautious. 

"How  many  are  going,  MacAlpine?"  he  in- 
quired, looking  his  visitor  shrewdly  in  the  eye. 

"  Three,  yer  Honor." 

"And  who  will  be  skipper?" 

;<  Your  humble  servant,  sorr,  —  for  want  of  a 
betther." 

"Very  well,  skipper  MacAlpine;  you  know 
the  rules  and  the  fate  of  all  deserters  from  the 
town.  And  now,"  he  added,  with  a  profound 
emphasis,  "  I  know  what  you  want  —  I  see  it  in 

[272] 


THE  FISHING  TRIP 

the  twinkling  of  your  eye,  skipper;  but  mark 
what  I  tell  you  —  if  we  catch  you  running  off  — 
look  out,  skipper,  that's  all,  look  out." 

"  Oi  will,  sorr — that  is,  sorr,  Oi  thank  ye,  sorr," 
replied  MacAlpine,  clutching  his  pass  and  hurry- 
ing out  to  conceal  his  exultation. 

On  their  return  to  the  boat  Hewes  rubbed  his 
eyes.  He  felt  sure,  he  said,  that  the  baskets  had 
been  put  in  the  standing-room  of  the  boat,  and 
that  tne  hatchway  to  the  cuddy-hole  had  been 
left  open.  Now  all  was  different. 

'  You've  been  dramin',  me  boy,  that's  all," 
returned  MacAlpine.     "  Now,  let's  make  ready." 

At  this  particular  juncture  a  soldier  came 
down  the  wharf  and  demanded  to  know  what 
the  two  were  doing  in  the  boat. 

"  Goin'  fishin',  yer  Honor." 
'Your  pass." 

"Here,  sorr." 

"  It  reads  for  three,"  said  the  soldier,  frowning. 

"Does  it,  indade?"  replied  MacAlpine,  in- 
nocently, taking  the  paper  and  turning  it  upside 
down  and  round  and  round.  "Be  the  powers, 
so  it  does.  Well,  t'other  fellow  musht  'a'  gone 
seasick  a'ready." 

The  soldier  grinned,  and  glancing  casually 
over  the  boat  as  if  inspecting  her  as  a  matter  of 
duty,  told  the  fishermen  they  might  proceed, 
which  they  did  with  alacrity.  The  single  sail 
was  hoisted,  and  a  light  breeze  catching  it,  the 
craft  slid  gently  down  the  harbor. 

In  a  few  moments  Hewes  was  transfixed  with 

[273] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

astonishment  at  the  tiller  by  the  sound  of  a  very 
musical  but  somewhat  muffled  voice. 

"May  I  come  out?"  it  said,  "'tis  stifling." 

*Yis,"  replied  Mac  Alpine,  removing  the 
hatchway,  "but  moind  ye  don't  show  yer  head." 

And  then  Hewes  was  still  more  astounded  to 
behold  the  laughing  face  of  Mistress  Drake. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Hewes,"  cried  the  girl, 
merrily.  "I'm  afraid  you  don't  fancy  me  for 
fishing  company. " 

"  'Tis  not  much  fishing,  I'm  thinking,  that 
we'll  do  this  trip,"  replied  the  steersman,  with 
the  air  of  one  who  had  suddenly  seen  a  great 
light. 

The  wind  freshened  as  the  craft  approached 
Deer  Island,  and  the  foam  was  beginning  to 
break  from  her  snub-nosed,  tilting  bow.  And 
just  below  they  saw  that  they  had  a  small  com- 
panion in  the  almost  deserted  harbor,  for  a  boat 
was  coming  in  rapidly  on  a  tack  against  the 
wind. 

"Who  the  divil's  out  in  that  gimcrack  to- 
day?" queried  MacAlpine,  surprised.  "They 
said  at  the  admiral's  that  no  other  fishin'  loicense 
had  been  given,  and,  faith,  no  one  can  be  thryin' 
to  run  in  from  the  outside  towns.  What  make 
ye  of  it,  Hewes?" 

"By  the  shape  of  the  sail  I  believe  it's  my 
friend  Hartley,  who  keeps  the  hospital  below. 
We'll  get  news  of  the  British  ships,  which  seem 
uncommon  scarce  hereabouts.  I'll  jibe,  and 
we'll  speak  with  him." 

By  dint  of  much  shouting  and  waving  of  hats, 

[274] 


THE  FISHING  TRIP 

the  occupant  of  the  incoming  boat  was  made  to 
slack  sheet  and  heave  to  within  hailing  distance 
of  the  pinky.  It  was  Hartley,  as  Hewes  had 
said,  coming  up  to  town  to  get  a  fresh  supply 
of  medicines.  They  passed  the  time  of  day  in 
somewhat  nautical  fashion,  for  Hewes  had  been 
to  sea  on  several  trips  before  the  war. 

"Where  are  the  warships?"  anxiously  asked 
the  pilot  of  the  little  party. 

"Driven  into  Nantasket  by  last  night's  nor'- 
easter,  a  roaring  one  enow,  '  replied  Hartley. 
'You  can  find  them  there  if  you  want  to  taKe 
the  trouble." 

"Thank  you,  friend,"  said  Hewes,  drily, 
"we'll  decide  about  that  later.  Good-day  to 
you." 

Then  they  bowled  merrily  on,  chuckling  at 
the  happy  dispensation  that  had  forced  the  big 
wooden  forts  to  seek  shelter  and  give  their  puny 
craft  such  glorious  right  of  way.  Even  the  winds 
of  heaven  were  with  them,  for  the  breeze  had 
chopped  around  into  the  northwest  and  was 
blowing  with  well-tempered  heartiness.  Mac- 
Alpine  whistled  joyously,  and  Hewes  piped  up  a 
tune  with  his  shrill  voice,  while  Constance  peered 
out  from  her  hiding-place  and  chafed  at  im- 
prisonment on  such  a  glorious  day. 

But  just  as  the  point  of  Deer  Island  was 
reached,  all  this  jollity  was  quenched,  for  around 
the  long  finger  of  land  suddenly  loomed  the 
masts  and  sides  of  a  frigate,  her  port-holes  open 
and  her  decks  black  with  men.  There  was  no 
escaping  this  watch-dog  of  the  water,  and  Mac- 

[275] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Alpine  ordered  Hewes  to  round  the  point  and 
push  boldly  by  the  warship.  With  a  swift 
movement  he  clapped  the  hatchway  on  the 
cuddy-hole,  and  awaited  developments. 

The  pinky  was  sailing  grandly  by  the  frigate, 
when  an  officer  shouted:  "Ahoy  there,  come 
alongside!" 


[acAlpine  made  a  hand-cup  for  his  ear  and 
cocked  his  head  on  one  side. 

'  You  heard  what  I  said  well  enough,"  roared 
the  captain  of  the  Somerset;  "come  alongside!" 

The  old  fencing-master  bowed  politely,  and 
instructed  Hewes  to  heave  to.  In  a  moment 
the  pinky  was  under  the  sides  of  the  frigate. 

"  Well,  sirrah,"  said  the  officer,  "  what  are 
you  doing  out  here  in  that  boat?" 

"  We're  goin'  fishin',  sorr,  if  Oi  might  make  so 
bould,"  replied  Dan.  "An'  to  prove  it,  here's 
the  loicense,  sealed,  signed,  and  delivered  this 
mornin'  by  Lord  Howe  himself,  a  foine  an' 
dacint  gintleman."  And  he  held  the  paper  up 
with  both  hands  as  high  as  he  could. 

"Very  well,  sir,  I  suppose  that  is  regular," 
was  the  reply.  "Call  with  your  fish  when  you 
come  back,  mind  that.  I  have  a  tooth  for  some 
good  cod  for  supper." 

"Oi  will,  sorr,  Oi  will,  indade,"  said  Mac- 
Alpine,  earnestly,  "whin  Oi  come  back  —  which 
is  domned  uncertain,"  he  added  in  a  low  voice 
to  his  companion  in  risk.  "Now  bring  her  to 
the  wind  ag'in,  Hewes,  and  head  her  for  Lynn 
loike  the  very  divil." 

The  craft  sprang  forward  under  the  impact 

1*76] 


THE  FISHING  TRIP 

of  a  strong  northwester  like  a  liberated  animal 
dashing  for  its  freedom.  The  water  hissed  in 
front  of  her  and  boiled  in  her  wake,  and  she 
bounded  on  and  away  from  the  frigate  at  a  splen- 
did rate.  The  old  soldier  could  restrain  his 
exhilaration  no  longer.  Tearing  off  the  hatch- 
way he  shouted  permission  to  Constance  to  come 
out,  then  turned  to  Hewes  with  a  great  cry  of 
triumph,  reckless  of  what  the  consequences 
might  be. 

'  Cheer,  mon,  cheer!"  he  cried,  waving  his 
cap  defiantly  at  the  enemy,  while  Constance, 
scrambling  out,  stood  by  his  side,  a  charming 
picture  with  her  simple,  home-spun  dress  ana 
her  woolen  cap  that  set  off  her  curls  to  perfec- 
tion. 

"Cheer,  both  of  yez!"  roared  the  veteran 
again.  And  all  three  joined  in  a  ringing  out- 
burst of  patriotic  fervor  that  was  seized  by  the 
wind  and  borne  away  to  sea  toward  the  country 
whose  power  they  were  mocking. 

A  savage  spit  of  fire,  a  puff  of  smoke,  and  a 
crashing  'boom"  from  the  frigate,  showed  that 
the  little  escapade  had  been  discovered.  Per- 
haps the  pantomime  of  the  cheering  had  be- 
trayed them,  perhaps  someone  had  told  the  cap- 
tain of  the  Somerset  that  people  never  sailed 
toward  Lynn  to  go  fishing  for  cod.  At  any  rate, 
far  to  their  starboard,  something  ploughed 
through  the  water,  sending  up  a  great  geyser  of 
salt  foam  that  glittered  radiantly  for  an  instant 
in  the  sunlight. 

"Beautiful,"  cried  the  girl,  her  only  thought 
[277] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

for  the  charm  of  the  spectacle.     "If  they  would 
only  fire  again!" 

*  Niver  moind  axin'  fer     any  repethitions  o' 
thot,  me  lady,"  said  MacAlpine.     "  Wan  o'  thim 
pretty  little  iron  balls  'd  sind  us  to  glory,  if  their 
aim  was  too  good." 

But  no  more  shots  were  sent  after  the  run- 
aways, and  when  their  safety  was  assured,  Mac- 
Alpine  turned  to  Constance  with  a  smile. 

'Oi  hope  you're  satisfied  with  your  expayri- 
ences,"  he  remarked. 

"I  am,  indeed.  'Tis  such  a  lark,  and  such  a 
joy  to  be  free, — free  even  for  a  day." 

"  Fray  ?  Oi  thought  when  that  skipper  over- 
hauled us  that  our  f  raydom  would  be  in  a  ship's 
brig.  But  although  we're  on  the  wather,  dar- 
lint,  we're  not  out  o'  the  woods  yit.  Why  have 
you  made  me  do  this  thing?  Your  uncle  will 
niver  forgive  me." 

"He'll  not  have  anything  to  forgive,  for  he'll 
never  know." 

"Here's  hopin'  you're  roight.  Is  that  it?" 
he  asked,  pointing  to  a  little  parcel  the  girl  was 
hugging  to  her  breast.  She  nodded. 

*  Aye,  'tis  Master  Brandon's  *  Horace,'  and 
—  and  other  things." 

"'Tis  the  other  things,  Oi  fancy,  he  really 
wants,"  observed  MacAlpine,  sagely. 

But  there  was  no  falling  of  the  wild  exhilara- 
tion that  Mistress  Drake  almost  cried  aloud  to 
the  blue  heavens,  as  the  pinky  tore  along  close- 
hauled,  springing  and  quivering  over  the  blue 
waters.  She  sang  for  the  very  joy  of  living 

[«78] 


THE  FISHING  TRIP 

under  such  a  sun;  she  chatted  gaily  with  poor 
Hewes,  taking  that  little  man  captive  relent- 
lessly. She  bared  her  arm  and  plunged  it  into 
the  swirling  waves,  throwing  the  spray  Quite 
into  MacAlpine's  face.  She  played  me  madcap 
to  the  full,  because  nothing  less  would  satisfy  her 
whim. 

At  last,  old  Dan,  to  whom  this  effervescence 
was  grateful  enough,  said  with  a  smile:  "Con- 
nie, me  darlint,  niver  have  Oi  seen  you  so  loike 
your  dear  father,  Captain  Terry,  heaven  rist  his 
sowl.  And  there's  been  so  much  misery  of  late. 
Phwat  makes  it,  mavourneen?" 

"I'm  free,  Dan,  free!"  was  the  excited  reply. 
"Ever  since  that  day  at  Lexington  and  the  re- 
turn to  town  I've  felt  like  a  caged  bird  beating 
its  wings  against  the  bars.  To-day  I'm  in  full 
flight  in  the  skv,  and  my  wings  will  bear  me. 
On,  it's  delightful;  I  could  hug  you,  Dan,  were 
you  near  enough." 

"Aisy  enough  to  get  so,  dearie,"  laughed  the 
pleased  old  soldier. 

Then  she  fulfilled  her  promise. 

Meanwhile  they  had  come  into  the  shallow 
little  bay  that  made  up  to  Lynn,  and  in  due 
time,  the  pinky  sidled  up  to  one  of  the  shaky 
wooden  piers,  and  her  passengers  debarked,  to 
become  me  centre  of  a  vastly  interested  crowd. 

George  Robert  Twelves  Hewes  arrogated  to 
himself  the  pleasing  task  of  dealing  out  the  news 
from  Boston,  while  MacAlpine  and  Constance 
went  in  search  of  some  sort  of  conveyance.  At 
last  they  found  a  sorry  nag  and  a  rough  country 

[279] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

wagon  that  the  owner  was  willing  to  charter  for 
practically  its  entire  value,  bestowing  his  blessing 
gratuitously,  and,  with  Hewes  deposited  in  the 
rear,  drove  out  of  the  village  at  a  pace  that  Mac- 
Alpine  sought  in  vain  to  accelerate. 

But  the  day  was  balmy  and  beautiful,  the 
land  glowing  with  the  mellow  richness  of  early 
autumn,  and  Constance  Drake,  though  she 
chafed  a  bit  at  the  jog-trot  that  kept  her  so  long 
from  the  day's  goal,  drank  in  the  wine  of  the 
air,  and  was  as  exuberant  in  a  jolting  cart  upon 
the  land  as  she  had  been  in  a  bounding  craft 
upon  the  sea. 

They  passed  through  several  small  towns 
without  let  or  hindrance,  always  yielding  up 
information  by  the  way  of  Hewes  at  the  watering 
troughs  and  taverns,  and  were  now  within  a  few 
miles  of  Cambridge,  when  just  ahead  they  saw 
a  Patriot  patrol.  With  full  confidence  in  the  value 
of  the  sentiments  of  all  three,  Dan  MacAlpine 
drove  directly  to  the  soldiers  and  hailed  them 
cheerily. 

"Not  so  fast,  not  so  fast,  friend,"  cried  the 
sergeant,  as  the  fencing-master  was  for  driving 
by  unconcernedly.  "I  fear  you'll  have  to  give 
an  account  o*  yourselves.  Where  are  you 
from?" 

"Boston,  sure,"  said  MacAlpine,  with  a  smile 
that  only  increased  the  soldier  s  suspicion. 

"Boston!"  he  exclaimed  incredulously. 
"Come,  friend,  I  —  but  I'd  better  take  you  to 
the  captain." 

A  little  farther,  by  the  side  of  the  road,  they 

[280] 


THE  FISHING  TRIP 

saw  a  few  tents,  the  camp  of  the  outpost.  Here 
they  were  halted,  while  old  Dan  was  questioned 
apart  by  the  officer  in  command,  a  well-set  young 
fellow  with  a  buff  and  blue  uniform  that  mightily 
pleased  Constance's  sense  of  propriety.  But 
the  Irishman  was  not  at  all  delighted,  for  he  re- 
turned to  the  wagon  with  indignation  writ  large 
upon  his  ruddy  face. 

"The  shpalpeens  don't  belave  me.  They 
say  they  musht  take  us  to  hidquarthers,"  he  ex- 
claimed ruefully. 

"Fate  is  with  us,  Dan,  to-day,"  cried  the  girl, 
clapping  her  hands.  "That's  just  where  we 
want  to  go." 

And  she  beamed  upon  the  handsome  young 
officer  as  if  he  were  the  cause  of  all  her  satisfac- 
tion, giving  him  material  for  day  dreams  for 
some  time  thereafter. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
A  General  and  a  Major 

IT  was  a  scene  of  enormous  activity  that  Con- 
stance Drake  and  her  two  retainers  —  and 
all  of  them  in  quasi-captivity  —  passed  through 
on  their  way  to  the  army  headquarters  at  Cam- 
bridge. Thousands  of  men  toiled  like  russet 
ants  at  the  long  line  of  intrenchments  from  the 
college  town  to  the  Mystic  River;  horses  and 
cattle  for  military  uses  ranged  over  the  choicest 
farm  lands  in  ruminative  bliss ;  great  gaps  in  the 
woodland  told  their  story  of  sacrifice  for  camp- 
fires  and  earthworks,  and  many  a  private  farm- 
house, willingly  transferred,  took  on  a  warlike 
aspect  as  befitting  the  quarters  of  American 
officers. 

After  the  lines  had  been  passed,  a  vastly  en- 
tertaining region  of  camps  was  traversed.  It 
was  a  motley  collection  of  soldiers'  dwellings,  as 
variegated  as  the  dress  of  the  different  sections 
of  the  army.  There  were  tents  of  sailcloth  and 
of  brush,  shacks  of  boards,  huts  of  stone  and  of 
turf  and  even  of  brick.  Some  were  apparently 
formed  by  a  hurling  together  of  their  constituent 
parts,  others  were  carefully  and  skilfully  made 
with  doors  and  windows  cunningly  wrought 
with  wreaths  and  withes  like  big  baskets.  It 

[S82] 


A  GENERAL  AND  A  MAJOR 

was  all  very  novel  and  very  delightful  to  Mis- 
tress Drake,  who  at  last  felt  sure  mat  here  was  a 
soldiery  among  which  womanhood  was  com- 
pletely and  happily  safe. 

At  last  they  entered  Cambridge,  and  drove 
slowly  througn  the  bustling  village,  the  center 
of  somewhat  unwelcome  attention.  It  was  not 
every  day  that  a  cart  containing  three  persons, 
one  of  them  a  very  pretty  young  woman,  went 
along  the  streets  escorted  by  a  guard,  and  the 
good  people  made  the  most  of  the  sight.  Con- 
stance reddened  and  fidgeted  in  her  seat,  but 
said  nothing.  She  was  reserving  her  vials  of 
wrath  for  a  more  telling  opportunity. 

Passing  the  college  buildings,  the  procession 
swung  to  the  right  and  along  the  river  road  until 
it  halted  before  a  beautiful  house,  sitting  some- 
what back  from  the  street,  fronted  by  a  neat 
garden,  now  a  bit  rusty  with  the  age  of  autumn. 

"Here  we  are  at  headquarters,  miss,"  volun- 
teered the  escorting  officer.  "This  house  was 
the  property  of  Col.  John  Vassall,  but  since  the 
old  Tory  cut  stick  and  away,  why,  what  better 
than  that  we  Americans  should  own  it?  'Tis 
just  now  the  residence  of  General  Washington 
and  General  Lee." 

"Ah!  Then  we  shall  see  this  —  Mr.  Wash- 
ington?" asked  the  girl,  with  malice  afore- 
thought. 

"You  will  have  speech  with  General  Lee,  but 
you  may  only  see  General  Washington,  ma'am, 
for  there  he  is  riding  away  now." 

Constance,  even  before  his  words,  had  noted, 

[283] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

on  a  noble  white  horse,  the  tall  and  stalwart 
figure  of  a  man  in  the  full  strength  of  life,  a  man 
wnose  heavily  carved  face  and  firm,  long  lips 
made  him  seem  the  incarnation  of  gravity  and 
dignity. 

This,  then,  was  the  famous  Washington,  who 
had  won  his  spurs  with  Braddock  and  who  was 
now  regarded  by  the  colonists  as  the  Mahomet 
whose  sword  should  cut  out  their  way  to  liberty. 
He  looked  the  role,  she  thought,  and,  with  her 
strong  feminine  love  for  physical  fitness,  she  ob- 
served with  pleasure  that  he  sat  his  horse  with 
wonderful  grace,  and  that  his  uniform  —  a  blue 
coat  with  rich  epaulettes,  buff  under-dress  and  a 
black  cockade  in  his  light  hat  —  was  of  the  rich- 
est material  and  skilfully  made. 

So  fine  a  picture  was  he  that  she  watched  him 
out  of  sight,  scarcely  noting  that  her  escort,  who 
now  seemed  a  very  ordinary  young  man  indeed, 
was  talking  with  another  high  officer  who  had 
just  come  down  the  steps  of  old  Tory  Vassall. 

But  when  she  realized  that  their  words  and 
gestures  were  meant  for  her,  she  flushed  with 
vexation. 

"Hoity-toity!"  she  cried,  "one  would  think 
that  we  were  from  another  world  or  some  mons- 
trosity, the  way  they  point  and  gape." 

"General  Lee  will  speak  with  you,"  said  an- 
other officer,  stepping  to  the  wagon. 

"I'll  speak  to  him"  she  muttered  to  Mac- 
Alpine,  as  she  leaped  nimbly  from  the  vehicle, 
scorning  the  soldier's  offer  of  assistance.  Dan 
and  Hewes  followed  her. 

[284] 


A  GENERAL  AND  A  MAJOR 

For  the  first  time  she  could  see  what  manner 
of  man  was  General  Lee,  upon  the  surface,  at 
least,  and  she  was  not  pleased  at  the  result.  His 
face  seemed  plain  even  to  ugliness,  and  his  dress 
was  careless  and  slovenly.  His  manner  was 
brusque,  almost  brutal,  and  his  voice,  as  she 
found  a  moment  later,  seemed  to  rasp  his  very 
throat  in  its  struggles  to  escape  into  the  open. 

"Well,  who  is  the  spokesman?"  growled  the 
General,  with  no  other  greeting. 

MacAlpine  and  Hewes  both  opened  their 
mouths  to  reply,  but  Mistress  Drake  opened  hers 
the  earlier. 

"I,  sir,  am  the  spokeswoman,"  she  said 
jauntily. 

"Ah,  indeed?     Well?" 

"Oh,  'tis  not  well,  though  you're  pleased  to 
say  so.  To  be  made  prisoners  - 

"Is  a  necessity  of  the  times,  for  which  I  am 
not  responsible,"  said  he  coldly.  "Who  are 
you?" 

The  girl  courtesied  in  her  best  style. 

"Constance  Drake,  at  your  service." 
"Tis  true,  then,  as  I  am  told?"  returned  the 
General,  in  nowise  softened. 

"What,  sir?" 

'That  you  are  the  niece  of  the  Tory  Rom- 
ney." 

"Yes." 

"And  that  this  man  is  lately  of  his  Majesty's 
army?" 

"Lately,  your  Honor,"  observed  MacAlpine, 
cheerily,  "but  not  very  lately.  Sivin — " 

[285] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"  We'll  have  but  one  spokes  —  woman,  if  you 
please/'  commanded  Lee. 

"Orders,  sorr,"  returned  Dan,  saluting  stiffly. 

"You  see  you  are  —  well,  suspicious  charac- 
ters," resumed  the  officer. 

"  Tis  all  my  fault,  captain,"  began  the  girl, 
mournfully. 

"Gm'ra/,  darlint,  gin'ral"  whispered  Mac- 
Alpine. 

I  asked  them  to  bring  me,  general." 

"For  what  purpose?"  Lee's  eyes  took  on  a 
steely  tone,  for  he  began  to  suspect  he  was  being 
trifled  with,  a  thing  he  could  never  brook. 

"That  I  cannot  tell,  at  least  to  none  but  you." 

"To  me?  Oh,  very  well.  Stand  aside,  gen- 
tlemen. .  .  .  Now,  mistress." 

"I  am  the  bearer  of  a  book  for  Master  John 
Brandon,  sir,"  said  the  girl,  looking  modestly 
at  the  ground. 

"A  book?" 

"A  'Horace,'  sir." 

"M'ph!    Let  me  see  it." 

"I  said  I  bore  it  to  Master  Brandon." 

"  It  will  never  reach  him  —  unless  I  see  it 
first,"  was  the  grim  reply,  of  whose  sincerity 
there  could  be  no  mistake.  So  Constance  real- 
ized, for  she  timidly  produced  the  package  from 
beneath  her  short  cloak,  and  handed  it  to  the 
general. 

Here,  two  very  remarkable  things  happened, 
to  be  stored  away  in  Mistress  Drake's  memory: 
General  Lee  not  only  smiled,  but  he  lowered  his 

[286] 


A  GENERAL  AND  A  MAJOR 

voice  until  it  was  actually  gentle,  as  he  read  the 
name  on  the  fly-leaf. 

"  Oh,  that  one,"  he  said.  "  So  you  have  come 
to  see  him?  Is  he  your  —  sweetheart?'* 

"He  has  never  told  me  so,"  was  the  demure 
reply. 

"There's  something  else  here  beside  a  book," 
said  the  General,  with  a  return  to  gruffness. 

"Yes." 

"Letters?" 

"Plans,  he  said." 

"Plans,  eh?  Of  what?  But  no  matter. 
Lieutenant,  is  Major  Brandon  on  duty  to-day?" 

"I  think  not,"  replied  the  officer,  who  had 
approached  at  Lee's  call. 

My  compliments  to  him,  and  bid  him  report 
to  me  here.' 

As  the  subordinate  went  on  his  errand,  even 
Lee  perceived  that  this  fair  young  courier  from 
beleaguered  Boston  was  travel-worn  and  tired, 
and  he  was  gallant  enough  to  invite  her  into  the 
house. 

"  The  women  will  find  you  some  refreshments," 
he  remarked.  "We'll  keep  those  men  under 
guard,  but  they'll  not  refuse  food,  either,  I'm 
thinking." 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  Constance,  re- 
freshed and  rested  and  buoyant  again,  was 
called  into  the  handsome  front  room  used  by 
the  officers  as  a  council  chamber.  And  there, 
talking  with  Lee,  as  if  confidentially,  certainly 
confidently,  from  his  air  and  tone,  stood  Major 

[887] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

John  Brandon,  in  an  immaculate  uniform  that 
made  him  a  very  different  man. 

He  stepped  forward  as  the  girl  entered, 
amazement  and  pleasure  struggling  for  the  mas- 
tery on  his  face. 

"Constance!"  he  cried.     "Is  it  possible?" 

"H'm;  you  do  know  her,  then,"  muttered  Lee. 

"Yes,  yes But  why  — 

"Your  messenger,  sir,"  replied  Constance, 
smiling  bewitchingly.  "Toby  was  injured.  He 
seemed  anxious,  so  I  brought  —  this,"  giving 
the  precious  parcel  into  the  right  hands  at  last. 

But  still  the  young  soldier  was  not  quite  sure 
that  he  was  not  dreaming  in  his  tent. 

"Why,  I  cannot  believe—    '  he  began  weakly. 

"That  I  would  be  so  silly?  I  can  scarcely 
credit  it  myself,  now." 

"Well,  well,"  broke  in  General  Lee,  impa- 
tiently, "let's  have  it  opened.  Plans,  I  think 
you  said,  mistress,  and  —  and  — " 

"Horace."  This  with  the  faintest  glint  of 
roguery  in  her  eyes  —  too  faint  for  the  old  sol- 
dier to  comprehend. 

"Oh  yes,  I  remember,"  he  replied  stolidly. 

Meanwhile,  Major  Brandon  had  opened  the 
packet,  and  spread  out  its  contents  before  the 
General. 

"Here,"  he  explained,  "is  a  drawing  of  the 
Copp's  Hill  battery,  and  here  - 

*  Good,  very  good,"  said  Lee.  "I'll  examine 
them  at  my  leisure."  And  he  walked  off  with 
the  maps,  leaving  the  two  quite  alone. 

But  of  this  happy  fact,  Brandon  was  at  first 

[268] 


A  GENERAL  AND  A  MAJOR 

oblivious,  for  he  had  come  across  a  sealed  paper 
bearing  his  own  name  on  the  back.  This  he 
opened  with  a  puzzled  air  and  read  hah*  aloud. 

"/  wish  you  could  come  to  my  party.  I'm 
sorry  I  said  what  I  did. 

Constance." 

Still  in  a  mist,  he  turned  the  letter  over  and 
over,  then  looked  carefully  at  the  date.  With  a 
swift  mental  harking-back  came  realization  so 
sweet  that  it  lent  to  his  face  the  most  radiant 
smile  Constance  had  ever  seen  upon  man.  He 
walked  to  where  she  stood,  and  neld  the  sheet 
before  her  dancing  eyes. 

14  You  wrote  that  to  me,"  he  said  softly,  "  two 
days  after  we  parted  at  the  edge  of  the  Com- 
mon!" 

"It  certainly  is  my  writing,"  said  Constance, 
all  a-blush. 

"Then  you  forgave?"  was  the  triumphant 
question. 

"  For  letting  me  act  like  a  fool  ?  I  suppose  I 
really  shouldn't." 

"But  you  did!" 

She  denied  no  more,  nor  yet  repulsed  certain 
advances  laid  down  in  the  rules  of  the  god  of 
love,  so  that  when  bluff  General  Lee  strode  into 
the  room  a  moment  later,  it  happened  that  he 
saw  an  evolution  not  part  of  military  tactics. 

"What's  this,"  he  roared,  "a  Continental 
major  surrendering  to  the  enemy?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  replied  the  girl,  redder  than 
[2891 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

her  reddest  rose  had  ever  been  in  the  breath  of 
June,  "he  has  brought  a  Tory  into  camp." 

But  John  Brandon  must  know  how  it  had 
fared  with  this  girl  —  his  now,  by  divine  right 
—  and  her  people,  and  with  rapid  speech  she 
told  him  of  all  tnat  had  happened,  of  her  uncle's 
illness,  and  of  his,  and  her  own,  loyalty  to  the 
cause  of  the  land.  At  which  he  became  all  im- 
patience and  solicitude. 

"Why,  then,"  he  cried,  "you  must  leave  the 
town  and  go  far  into  the  country." 

"You  forget  uncle  and  Aunt  Tabitha,"  she 
answered  quietly.  "They  cannot  go,  and  I 
must  stay  with  them.  Besides,  I  —  I  may  be 
of  use  there  —  to  the  cause  —  to  you.9' 

The  little  party  was  escorted  back  to  Lynn  by 
Major  Brandon,  who  had  never  yet  had  so  pleas- 
ant a  detail,  and  who  felt  very  helpless  and 
wretched  when  he  saw  their  boat  push  off  in  the 
gathering  dusk  and  head  for  Deer  Island.  But 
on  his  ride  back  to  Cambridge  all  the  dear  joy 
of  heart's  possession  overcame  the  sorrow  of 
separation,  and  hope  lighted  his  way  as  the  stars. 

Just  outside  Lynn,  MacAlpine,  with  praise- 
worthy foresight,  purchased  a  supply  of  fish 
from  a  man  coming  in.  But  they  were  not 
needed  for  strategic  purposes,  for,  under  cover 
of  darkness,  Hewes,  who  knew  the  harbor  well, 
got  safely  home  again. 

And  Mistress  Drake,  after  the  fatigue  and 
excitement  of  a  notable  day,  went  to  sleep  with  a 
well-thumbed  copy  of  "Horace"  under  her  pillow. 

[290] 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

The  Riding-School 

DECEMBER,  and  a  still  inactive  town  and 
campaign.  Gage  was  back  in  England, 
at  his  own  request,  it  is  true,  but  a  practically 
discredited  and  defeated  commander.  Lord 
Howe,  whose  rise  to  supreme  power  had  en- 
couraged the  Tories  with  visions  of  the  swift 
and  certain  punishment  of  the  "rebels,"  had 
done  little  beyond  strengthening  the  defenses 
and  improving  the  quarters  of  his  soldiers.  It 
was  soon  evident  that  he  was  to  be  masterly  only 
in  defense,  if  at  all. 

Howe  was  a  soldier,  but  a  man  of  pleasure 
also,  and  the  latter  trait,  when  developed  by 
surroundings,  often  weakened  his  natural  vigor 
and  interfered  with  decision.  Like  master,  like 
man.  His  plainly  seen  desire  to  make  winter 
in  a  garrison  town  as  endurable  as  possible 
affected  others  and  the  rank  and  file,  and  liberty 
of  conduct,  even  license,  was  the  order  of  the 
long  weeks. 

Ensign  Cuyler  put  the  matter  expressively 
enough  to  Barbara,  whom  he  met  one  day  — 
the  type  of  many  another  day  —  on  one  of  his 
visits  to  Charlton,  who  was  still  quartered  with 
the  Romneys. 

[891] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"If  we  cannot  get  out,"  he  remarked  astutely, 
"  we  are  certainly  not  to  be  blamed  for  making 
the  place  where  we  must  stay  as  endurable  as 
possible." 

"And  are  you  doing  it?"  queried  Constance, 
with  a  flashing  smile  that  might  have  meant 
much  or  nothing.  To-day  she  was  playing 
duenna  to  the  "young  people." 

"Well,  we  are  doing  the  best  we  can,"  replied 
the  young  soldier,  falling  into  the  trap  with 
beautiful  unconsciousness.  "But  I'll  confess 
that  time  does  drag  heavily  on  our  hands  some- 
times." 

Pretty  Barbara  looked  up  from  her  knitting 
with  a  quick  glance  that  told  him  he  had  blun- 
dered. She  pouted,  too,  but  that  was  quite  un- 
necessary. 

"Of  course,  you  see,"  Cuyler  floundered  on, 
"I  —  I  can't  be  in  pleasant  company  —  here, 
for  instance  —  all  the  time." 

"Here,  for  instance?"  mocked  ruthless  Mis- 
tress Drake,  with  a  laughing  glance  at  Barbara's 
fingers,  now  plying  her  knitting  needles  with 
tremendous  energy.  That  young  lady  was 
stung  into  a  reply,  but  a  very  dignified  one, 
withal. 

"I  presume,  Constance,"  she  said,  "that  En- 
sign Cuyler  finds  many  attractions  in  the  town 
of  which  we  are  ignorant." 

"And  of  which,  perhaps,  it  will  be  quite  as 
well  that  we  remain  so,  eh,  Mr.  Cuyler?"  urged 
the  charming  mischief-maker. 

"Indeed,  Barbara,"  put  in  the  embarrassed 

[292] 


THE  RIDING-SCHOOL 

officer,  "there  is  but  little  distraction,  save  in 
this  house." 

"Hear  him,  Bab,"  laughed  her  friend.  "We 
drive  him  to  distraction." 

"Oh,  Mistress  Drake,  I  pray  you!"  appealed 
the  overwhelmed  Cuyler,  looking  into  her  merry 
eyes  with  pain  in  his  own. 

"Well,  I'll  be  generous.  Come,  come,  Bab, 
you  know  well  enough  Mr.  Cuyler  would  be 
here  all  his  spare  time  if  he  had  any  encour- 
agement." 

The  prim  little  girl  flushed  angrily  and  the 
calm,  cool  depths  of  her  nature  were  really 
stirred  into  hot  activity.  A  little  more  of  this, 
she  decided,  and  she  would  go  home  at  once. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Constance  Drake?" 
she  demanded  sharply. 

"Just  what  I  say,  '  was  the  unruffled  reply, 
"that  if  he  had  any  encouragement  —  that  is, 
from  Lieutenant  Charlton's  need  of  him  —  he 
would  be  here  all  the  time." 

Barbara's  retaliation  was  softly  but  very  pre- 
cisely spoken.  She  knew  where  her  revenge 
lay,  and  she  took  it  very  sweetly. 

"There  would  be  more  need  of  him,"  she 
said,  "if  you  were  not  so  attentive,  dear." 

Constance  shot  a  curious  glance  at  her  little 
companion,  a  glance  in  which  amusement,  ap- 
probation, and  vexation  was  blended.  She 
walked  to  the  window,  and  watched  the  snow- 
birds picking  at  the  branches  of  the  apple  trees 
in  the  garden. 

"I  didn't  think  the  puss  had  it  in  her,"  was 

[293] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

her  mental  summing  up  of  Barbara's  feat.  When 
she  turned  from  the  outside  world  she  was  not 
surprised  to  find  Cuyler  and  the  girl  much  nearer 
one  another  than  they  had  been  before.  The 
knitting-work  had  fallen  into  Barbara's  lap. 

"Barbara  tells  me  that  you,  too,  have  never 
seen  our  new  riding-school  —  in  the  South 
Church,  I  mean,"  said  the  ensign. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  replied  Constance,  with  a 
touch  of  asperity.  She  had  little  sympathy  for 
the  warfare  that  had  transformed  a  shrine  of 
religious  devotion  into  an  exercise-ground  for 
King's  troopers.  The  surprise  in  the  soldier's 
glance  warned  her  that  as  an  accredited  Tory, 
and  still  the  toast  of  British  officers,  she  had  her 
character  to  sustain.  "What  is  it  like?"  she 
asked,  with  an  appearance  of  kindly  interest. 

Cuyler,  still  rather  puzzled,  began  a  labored 
and  grandiloquent  description  of  the  school, 
which  Constance  cut  short  remorselessly. 

"I  should  like  to  see  it,"  she  cried.  "'Tis  a 
pleasant  afternoon.  Why  not  take  us  there?" 

"I  —  I  should  be  glad  to  do  so,  if  -  '  and 
the  ensign  looked  inquiringly  at  Barbara.  The 
latter's  face  showed  disapproval. 

'  You  forget,  Constance,  that  —  that  we  used 
to  go  to  meeting  there." 

'  Does  that  make  any  difference?"  was  the 
half-scornful  query.  Then,  seeing  the  tears  in 
Bab's  eyes,  "Of  course  it  does,  Barbara."  She 
ran  to  the  ^irl  and  under  cover  of  an  effusive 
embrace  whispered: 

"  Goose,  it  makes  me  ill  with  anger  to  think  of 

[294] 


THE  RIDING-SCHOOL 

it,  but  while  I  must  be  a  Tory  I  must  do  as  the 
Tories  do.  .  .  .  Do  ladies  go  there,  Ensign  Cuy- 
ler?" 

"Certainly;  often.  Now  I  think  on't,  there's 
an  exhibition  there  this  afternoon." 

Constance  clapped  her  hands  and  pirouetted 
with  a  saucy  semblance  of  a  courtesy. 

"We'll  go,"  she  cried,  "if  you'll  take  us.  An 
exhibition,  do  you  hear,  Barbara!" 

And  she  seized  the  little  girl,  who  had  never 
yet  ceased  to  be  surprised  at  Tier  vagaries,  swung 
her  wildly  around  and  out  of  the  room,  and  half 
pushed  her  up  the  stairs,  to  the  great  damage  of 
her  carefully  arranged  hair,  and  confusion  of 
her  precise  garments.  Constance's  arguments, 
upstairs,  must  have  been  effective,  for  presently 
both  girls  came  down  in  walking  clothes,  ac- 
companied by  the  negress  Agnes,  who  remained 
loyal  to  her  gay  turbans  in  the  coldest  of  weather. 

As  they  walked  to  the  church,  the  gaunt  ruins 
of  several  houses,  stripped  for  firewood,  spoke 
eloquently  of  the  siege. 

"There  are  worse  than  these,"  observed  Cuy- 
ler.  "Samuel  Adams'  house  has  been  prac- 
tically demolished  by  the  soldiers."  Constance 
smiled,  but  reserved  the  right  to  unspoken  dis- 
gust. 

"They  can't  catch  him,  so  they  wreak  their 
satisfaction  on  his  house,"  she  answered. 

The  South  Church  had  not  been  altered  out- 
side in  any  special  way,  but  its  interior  was  so 
changed  that  Constance  felt  angrily  that  she  had 
another  score  to  pay  against  the  invaders  of  her 

[295] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

country.  Gone  were  all  the  high-backed  pews, 
wherein  some  of  the  town's  greatest  and  best 
had  worshiped ;  gone  the  tall  pulpit  from  whence 
had  come  many  a  fiery  rebuke  of  unbelief;  gone 
all  the  atmosphere  of  sanctity  in  the  new  spirit 
of  levity  and  carousal  that  had  been  poured  into 
the  place. 

Tne  floor  was  covered  with  gravel,  bark,  and 
chips,  and  over  it  tore  the  hoofs  of  spirited  horses, 
some  whirling  in  cavalry  evolutions,  others  leap- 
ing a  great  bar  that  had  been  put  up  at  one  end. 
In  a  corner  a  band  was  playing  lively  tunes,  and 
a  crowd  of  the  wives  of  officers  and  Boston  Tories 
made  gay  one  of  the  galleries  with  their  hand- 
some toilets.  Another  gallery  had  been  turned 
into  a  refreshment  room,  where  tea,  sweet  cakes, 
and  liquors  were  dispensed  by  regiment  sutlers. 

"A  carnival  in  the  house  of  God,"  thought 
Constance,  her  lips  curling  with  scorn  at  the 
sight,  while  Barbara  looked,  down  on  the  scene 
with  wide-eyed  amazement. 

"Why,  where  are  the  pews?"  she  asked  in- 
nocently. 

"When  they  were  taken  out,  many  of  them 
were  burned,"  answered  Cuyler  uncomfortably. 
Redcoat  as  he  was,  he  had  sentiment  enough  to 
feel  ashamed  of  the  desecration. 

But  not  so  another  officer  who  happened  to 
stand  behind  the  group.  In  a  voice  tnickened 
by  a  sedulous  attention  to  the  spirituous  portion 
of  the  refreshments,  a  voice  that  Constance  knew 
for  Mowatt's  without  the  evidence  of  that  sol- 
dier's sardonic  face,  he  said: 

[296] 


THE  RIDING-SCHOOL 

"One  of  'em  wasn't  burned,  Cuyler,  Deacon 
Hubbard's  —  carved  mahogany  and  silk  — 
makes  me  a  royal  hog-stye." 

Cuyler  turned  on  him  with  a  look  of  almost 
threatening  anger,  and  the  fellow  swaggered 
away. 

A  great  bricked  stove  had  been  built  on  one 
side  to  warm  the  arena,  and  into  its  capacious 
throat,  Constance  noted,  a  man  was  pouring  a 
curious  sort  of  food  from  an  irregular  heap 
near  by. 

"Of  course  my  eyes  are  playing  me  tricks," 
she  remarked,  to  Cuyler,  "  but  that  soldier  seems 
to  be  feeding  the  fire  with  —  books." 

'Your  vision  tells  the  truth,"  replied  the  offi- 
cer drily. 

"Are  they  then  so  plentiful?" 

"A  certain  library  was  found  stored  in  the 
church,  I  believe." 

"'Tis  the  Rev.  Thomas  Prince's,  bequeathed 
to  the  church,"  said  Barbara  mournfully.  Con- 
stance said  no  more,  but  her  feelings  were  told 
in  a  warm  and  sympathetic  pressure  of  the  hand 
under  Bab's  gray  mantle. 

Some  of  the  evolutions  they  saw,  during  their 
short  stay  in  the  gallery,  well-performed  and 
dashing,  a  sight  they  would  have  enjoyed  in  an- 
other place.  They  saw,  too,  a  number  of  men 
with  white  sashes  around  their  left  arms, 
members  of  General  Ruggles'  band  of  Loyal 
Americans,  and  others  whose  white  cockades 
proclaimed  of  the  Loyal  Irish  Volunteers,  also 

[297] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

formed  of  Bostonians.  Mistress  Drake's  scorn 
of  these  gentlemen  was  intense. 

"I  honor  the  wearers  of  a  red  coat  who  do 
their  duty,"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  flashing, 
"but  these  mongrel  soldiers,  who  fight  against 
their  own  people  for  pleasure,  it  seems  —  Pah!" 

When  trie  girls  declared  that  they  had  seen 
enough,  Cuyler  was  not  sorry.  In  fact,  the 
corner  of  the  gallery  they  occupied  had  become 
a  sort  of  magnetic  ground  for  certain  of  the 
officers  Constance  knew,  and  it  seemed  to  the 
ensign  that  all  of  them  were  rather  more  gaily 
cognizant  of  Barbara's  presence  than  was  at  all 
expedient. 

But  as  they  were  about  to  leave,  a  trio  ap- 
proached whom  it  was  impossible  for  Cuyler  to 
nout.  In  the  van  was  pursy,  puffing  Doctor 
Gair,  and  with  him  the  handsome,  graceful 
Percy  and  the  rubicund  Burgoyne,  in  the  full 
glory  of  his  best  regimentals. 

"The  General  wanted  to  see  you  particularly," 
whispered  the  surgeon,  with  a  sly  wink  at  Con- 
stance. That  young  woman's  natural  curiosity 
was  mingled  with  a  sort  of  trepidation  as  she 
remembered  her  overhearing  of  the  General's 
words  as  to  the  expediency  of  fortifying  Dor- 
chester Heights,  words  that  had  formed  the  basis 
of  her  warning  to  the  Americans,  who  had  so 
promptly  spoiled  the  plan  by  the  seizure  of 
Breed's  Hill.  Yet  in  a  moment  she  was  smiling 
at  her  own  fantastic  fears,  and  she  laughingly 
engaged  the  General  in  conversation  with  such 

[898] 


THE  RIDING-SCHOOL 

zest  that  many  an  approving  glance  was  shot 
from  the  floor  to  her  point  of  vantage. 

As  Barbara  and  Cuyler  joined,  the  merry 
group,  the  little  girl  was  astonished  to  hear  talk 
of  theatricals  flying  back  and  forth. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Burgoyne  was  saying,  "your 
Faneuil  Hall  made  an  excellent  playhouse  when 
we  cleared  out  the  stuff  stored  there." 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  observed  Percy,  "that 
fair  Mistress  Drake  did  not  witness  the  per- 
formance by  Burgoyne  and  his  players  of  Vol- 
taire's 'Zara'  ?" 

Dr.  Gair  explained  this  seeming  anomaly. 
"Her  uncle's  illness,"  he  said,  "has  kept  her 
close  since  the  siege  began.  But  he  is  now  so 
much  improved  she  can  go  abroad  again." 

"Egad,  I'm  glad  of  that,"  exclaimed  Bur- 
goyne, heartily,  'for  we're  to  give  another  play 
soon,  and  perhaps,  Mistress  Drake,  you  — " 

Barbara  lost  the  rest,  which  she  could  easily 
guess,  as  she  and  Cuyler  passed  down  the  stairs 
and  to  the  street,  where  they  waited  Constance's 
pleasure  like  faithful  vassals. 

' '  My  Lady  Laughter,'  you  say  they  call  her  ?  " 
cried  Burgoyne  to  Percy,  when  the  girl  and 
Dr.  Gair  had  gone.  "Egad,  man,  she  merits  it." 

Cuyler  and  his  pretty  charges  were  not  yet 
free  of  their  day's  adventures,  it  seemed,  for  no 
sooner  had  they  started  home,  when  a  tiny  speci- 
men of  boyhood,  darting  from  behind  the  church, 
ran  plump  into  the  officer  and,  by  reason  of  the 
laws  of  reaction,  fell  in  a  pathetic  little  heap  at 
his  feet.  Then,  seeing  the  uniform  he  had  un- 

[299] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

wittingly  assailed,  he  covered  his  face  with  his 
thin  hands  and  wailed  aloud: 

"Don't  beat  me,  sir;  I  didn't  steal  it,  indeed 
I  didn't!" 

"Steal  what,  boy?"  asked  the  ensign. 

The  lad  pointed  to  a  basket  which  had  fallen 
with  him  in  his  interrupted  flight,  and  which 
somehow  his  small  body  had  managed  to  con- 
ceal. In  it  were  what  appeared  to  be  bits  of 
food,  wisps  of  straw,  and  wooden  chips. 

"What  is  it,  child?"  asked  Constance,  gently 
helping  the  little  fellow  to  his  legs. 

*  I  found  'em  all,  ma'am,  really  I  did." 

"By  George,  it's  —  well,  food!"  exclaimed 
Cuyler. 

*  I  believe  I  know — "  said  Barbara  —  "yes, 
'tis    Tommy    Lane.     Your    grandmother  —  is 
she  well?" 

"I  s'pose  so,"  was  the  plaintive  reply,  "if 
them's  well  as  is  allus  hungry." 

"Are  you  hungrv,  my  lad?"  asked  Constance, 
gently.  The  pinched  face  told  its  story  but  too 
well. 

'Me,  miss?     I'm  not  complaining." 

"But  you  are  hungry?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  get  along,  but  grandma  -  The 
small  voice  quavered,  but  the  tears  were  man- 
fully kept  in  check.  Constance's  heart  swelled 
with  pity  and  something  very  near  to  self-re- 
proach. 

"  So  there  is  suffering  —  hunger  —  starvation 

-  of  course  there  must  be  —  and  I  have  not 

thought  of  it,"  she  said.     Then  she  gave  the 

[300] 


THE  RIDING-SCHOOL 

youngster  a  coin  and  bade  Agnes  go  to  see  what 
were  the  needs  of  the  grandmother.  As  she 
watched  his  little  legs  trotting  along  beside  the 
rotund  negress,  she  sighed.  But  with  that  sigh 
came  a  great  resolution. 

"  That  poor  boy ! "  she  cried.  ;'  There  is  work 
for  us  to  do,  Bab,  and  we  shall  begin  to-morrow. 
There's  not  much  food  at  any  price,  but  there's 
some,  and  we,  at  least,  have  money.  " 

Home  again,  the  girl  sat  down  at  her  harpsi- 
chord, and  played  softly  for  a  few  moments  a 
gentle  old  air  of  Purcell's.  But  somehow  this  bit 
of  dainty  melancholy  soon  lost  itself  in  a  gay  riga- 
doon  that  flew  over  the  strings  in  mad  fashion. 
Then  the  player  brought  all  ten  pretty  fingers 
crashing  down  upon  the  fragile  keys,  and  turned 
toward  oewildered  Bab  with  a  burst  of  laughter 
that  grew  so  intense  that  it  seemed  like  hysteria. 

"Whatever  is  the  matter,  Constance  dear?" 
asked  her  sober  companion. 

"Just  think  of  it,"  was  the  merry  reply,  "I've 
agreed  to  play  a  part  at  Faneuil  Hall  in  Bur- 
goyne's  new  comedy." 

'You  an  actress?"  exclaimed  Barbara. 

'Yes,  stupid.  Haven't  I  been  one  these  six 
months  past?" 


[SOI] 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
The  Twelfth  Night  Masque 

"V7TJLE-TIDE  was  ne'er  like  this  before,  I'll 

\_  be  sworn,  since  the  Christmas  season  first 
began." 

Thus  Giles  Romney,  in  no  very  amiable  tem- 
per, to  his  wife,  Tabitha,  as  they  sat  before  the 
generous  warmth  of  a  fine,  great  fireplace,  on 
the  day  after  the  twenty-fifth  of  December. 

The  old  man  was  now  old  in  physical  attri- 
butes, as  well  as  in  years.  Illness,  worry,  un- 
certainty of  the  future,  anxiety  for  his  niece  — 
all  the  thousand  and  one  bitternesses  that  war 
brings  as  its  hand-maidens,  had  stolen  the  color 
from  his  cheeks  and  lessened  the  bulk  of  his 
once  stalwart  frame. 

His  wife  gazed  at  his  changed  face  with  eyes 
that  moistened  with  the  tenderness  of  solicitude. 
There  is  a  sadness  in  woman's  age,  but  the  sad- 
ness of  sestheticism,  almost,  the  mourning  for 
vanished  beauty;  there  is  a  deeper  poignancy 
in  the  decay  of  a  man,  for  when  strength  is  laid 
low  all  seems  lost.  Something  of  this  the  gentle 
lady  felt  as  she  thought  of  the  Giles  Romney  of 
her  youth,  the  hearty  young  buck  who  carried 
her  heart  by  storm,  and  had  been  almost  as  im- 
petuous ever  since  —  until  now.  But  she  re- 

[302] 


THE  TWELFTH  NIGHT  MASQUE 

plied  quietly:  "We,  at  least,  Giles,  have  shelter, 
food,  and  light  and  warmth." 

"Warmth?  Umph!"  growled  her  husband. 
"  But  what  do  you  suppose  we're  burning  now  ?  " 

"Indeed,  I  know  not." 

"Well,"  -and  he  struck  at  a  log  with  the 
brass-mounted  tongs,—  "what  do  you  iaucythis 
may  be,  now  ?  .  .  .  'Tis  half  the  door-sill  of  Par- 
son Moorehead's  house.  I'd  rather  go  cold  than 
burn  it,  but  'tis  as  well  that  I  should  burn  it  as 
these  upstart  British!" 

"Sh!   Giles.     Mr.  Charlton  might  — " 

"Hear  me?  What  if  he  did?  I'm  not 
afraid." 

"  He  is  our  guest,"  was  the  gentle  reproof. 

"True,  Tabitha.     I  had  forgot." 

Silence  fell  between  the  couple  for  many  min- 
utes as  each  gazed  into  the  embers  of  rarson 
Moorehead's  sill,  as  it  slowly  reached  the  end  so 
many  times  foretold  for  the  wicked  by  its  erst- 
while owner.  Then,  said  the  old  man,  bright- 
ening somewhat:  "Where  is  Constance?" 

"  She  has  not  yet  returned  from  her  trip  among 
the  poor." 

"The  poor?  We're  all  poor  in  these  days. 
The  idea  of  spending  Christmas  Day  among 
poverty  and  disease !  'Tis  atrocious !  The  mer- 
riest day  of  all  the  year  it  used  to  be  in  Old  Eng- 
land. The  soldiers  found  it  gay  enough  here, 
to  judge  by  their  noise." 

"  Would  you  rather  Constance  were  like  them 
than—?" 

"No,  wife,  damme,  no!"  he  replied,  with  much 

[303] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

of  his  old  fire.  "The  girl's  right;  she's  right, 
God  bless  her!" 

This  benison  reached  its  mark  promptly,  for 
Mistress  Drake  at  the  moment  came  bursting 
into  the  room,  her  cheeks  rosy  from  her  winter 
walk. 

"  Who  was  it  said  *  listeners  never  hear  aught 
that's  good  of  themselves'  ?"  she  cried,  and  ran 
to  her  uncle  with  a  resounding  kiss  that  pleased 
the  old  fellow  mightily.  Age  might  steal  his  gar- 
lands of  youth,  and  trouble  eat  into  his  heart, 
but  with  these  fresh  and  loving  lips  against  his 
cheek,  life  was  still  to  be  desired. 

"Constance,  my  dear,"  said  her  aunt,  "Bar- 
bara has  been  waiting  for  you  the  past  hour. 

The  girl  ran  quickly  upstairs.  She  had  not 
seen  her  little  friend  for  several  days,  and  when 
last  they  met  she  had  fancied  some  change  in  her 
looks.  The  peach-bloom  of  the  cheeks,  had  it 
not  paled  a  bit?  And  were  there  not  the  sug- 
gestions of  dark  circles  under  the  brown  eyes  ? 
Yes,  she  was  sure  of  it,  now  that  she  was  face  to 
face  with  her.  She  took  the  girl  to  her  heart, 
in  an  embrace  of  affection  and  apprehension. 

"Poor  child,"  she  thought,  "even  she  feels 
the  strain."  Then  she  said  aloud:  "Now,  let's 
sit  down  and  have  a  good,  long  talk." 

"  I  came  to  ask  you  to  go  home  with  me,"  re- 
plied Barbara. 

'*  To  go  home  with  you  ?  Certainly,  although 
I'm  something  weary.  I  begin  to  believe  I  was 
never  intended  for  a  Good  Samaritan,  at  least 
not  an  active  one.  But  what's  to  do  ?" 

[304] 


THE  TWELFTH  NIGHT  MASQUE 

On  the  way  to  Quaker  Lane,  Barbara  told  her 
friend  that  she  had  come  for  her  at  the  appeal  of 
Toby  Gookin,  who,  although  healed  of  his 
wound,  was  still  in  hiding  at  her  father's  house. 
"  And  why  he  stays  so  long  here  is  all  very  strange 
to  me,"  she  ended. 

"Long  Toby,  eh?"  said  Constance.  "Why, 
what  can  he  want  of  me?" 

"That's  what  I  asked  him,  and  he  only  said 
John  would  wish  it." 

"You  have  heard  from  —  your  brother?" 

"Toby  does  frequently  —  by  men  who  come 
to  the  house  at  nignt.  But  John  never  writes  a 
word  to  me." 

"He  fears  'twould  get  you  into  trouble,  dear," 
replied  her  friend  comfortingly. 

^j  # 

riloted  to  the  garret  of  the  Brandon  house  by 
Barbara,  who  explained  that  Toby  found  it  ex- 
pedient to  remain  in  strict  seclusion  during  the 
daytime,  Constance  found  the  tall  rustic  reading 
a  book.  This  in  itself  was  rather  surprising, 
but  the  change  in  his  appearance  and  manners 
was  perhaps  still  more  so.  Apparently,  he  had 
steeped  himself  in  John  Brandon's  literature 
during  his  long  visit,  and  the  effect  had  been  to 
remove  some  of  the  uncouthness  of  his  former 
self.  The  girl  noted  that  the  volume  he  laid 
down  at  her  arrival  was  a  compilation  of  some 
of  the  "Spectator"  papers,  and  she  wondered 
if  Sir  Roger  had  been  able  to  work  this  trans- 
formation unaided. 

'Yew  will  excuse  me,  Mistress  Drake,  for 
troublin'  you,"  he  began,  after  Barbara  had 

[305] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

left  them  alone,  "but  it  is  necessary.  It  is  in 
Major  Brandon's  name  I  do  it." 

"  If  I  can  be  of  any  service  -  '  began  Con- 
stance. 

"Yew  can!  I  have  stayed  here  for  one  pur- 
pose,— *  here  his  voice  sank  into  an  intense 
whisper,— -"  it  is  to  remove  a  secret  store  of  paouw- 
der  and  ammunition  to  withaout  the  taou  wn  where 
'tis  sorely  needed.  The  attempt  will  be  made 
on  Twelfth  Night,  when,  I  am  told,  the  soldiers 
and  sailors  mate  merry  in  celebration." 

Twelfth  Night!  The  girl  recalled  with  vivid- 
ness the  licentious  revelry  of  that  celebration  a 
year  ago,  when  the  town  was  in  nominal  peace. 
N  ow,  with  war,  what  might  not  it  be  ? 

"We  shall  take  advantage  of  that  night's  up- 
roar," Gookin  went  on,  '  to  try  and  pass  the 
lines  with  what  is  likely  to  be  a  paouwerf ul  bulky 
load.  No  more  farm  wagons  are  likely  tew  git 
out  naouw,"  he  added,  with  a  smile. 

"As  I  helped  you  then,"  answered  Constance, 
"so  you  can  rely  upon  me  now." 

"I  knew  it,"  he  said  heartily.  "We  need 
money  —  a  small  amount  —  Mr.  Brandon  has, 
without  my  knowing  it  until  now,  spent  his  all, 
and  --  well,  there  hez  been  sufferin'  here." 

Constance  looked  at  the  giant  with  amaze- 
ment and  consternation. 

"Suffering?"  she  cried.  "Then  that  is  what 
has  made  Barbara  - 

'You  hev  noticed  it,  then?  I  fear  that  of 
late  there  has  not  been  even  enough  to  eat." 

"Why  was  I  not  told?"    she  demanded  in- 

[806] 


THE  TWELFTH  NIGHT  MASQUE 

dignantly.  "They  shall  want  for  nothing.  I 
wm  — " 

"  Might  I  suggest  ?.  .  .  Could  yew  take  Mis- 
tress Barbara  and  her  father  tew  your  uncle's 
house?" 

;'Yes,  and  you,  too,"  she  exclaimed. 

But  Gookin  shook  his  head.  "I  am  grateful 
to  ye,  miss,  but  I  hoped  they  might  go,  to  leave 
me  here  alone.  'Tis  risky  work  and  Major 
Brandon  would  never  forgive  me  should  harm 
come  to  his  sister." 

The  removal  of  Barbara  and  her  father,  on 
pretext  of  an  invitation  to  a  visit,  was  speedily 
arranged,  and  Constance,  taking  some  money 
from  her  own  little  hoard,  sent  it  to  Long  Toby, 
by  means  of  Pompey. 

"Did  you  see  him,  Pompey?"  the  girl  de- 
manded on  his  return. 

"  'Deed  I  did,  missy,  an'  he  was  as  gracious  to 
dis  yer  niggah  as  if  I'd  a  been  King  Peterholomy 
on  de  trone  ob  de  Egyptologists'  dinahnasty." 


The  intervening  days  before  Twelfth  Night 
were  to  Constance  Drake  a  time  of  mental  un- 
rest very  near  to  pain.  She  suffered  ardently 
that  species  of  torture  that  comes  to  one  vitally 
interested  in  the  outcome  of  some  plan,  and  yet 
ignorant  of  its  progress  or  its  methods.  What 
if  Toby  should  tail  ?  What  if  the  carefully  built 
structure  of  the  Patriots  should  tumble  about 
their  heads  in  a  terrible  crash  ? 

What  if  John  Brandon  —  Toby  had  hinted 

[307] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

darkly  that  he  might  come  to  town  to  see  the  plot 
to  its  termination  —  what  if  he  were  to  be  taken  ? 
Ah,  there  was  no  doubt  about  what  would  hap- 
pen then.  Death!  To  a  spy!  Lord  Howe 
nad  been  very  free  with  his  talk  of  gibbets  and 
executions,  nor  was  it  idle  bombast,  sne  knew. 

A  man  had  been  hanged  once,  and  she  had 
unwittingly  passed  the  gallows  after  dark.  She 
had  never  forgotten  the  solemn  horror  of  that 
sight,  and  now  in  her  disordered  visions  she 
seemed  to  behold  the  slender  body  of  John  Bran- 
don swaying  gently  from  that  fearsome  loop 
that  threw  his  head  back  so  horribly,  a  black 
figure  against  the  only  less  black  night ! 

But  the  awaited  day  came  at  last,  clear  and 
not  cold  for  the  season.  Constance  resolved  to 
stay  indoors,  for,  after  all,  her  further  help 
might  by  some  chance  be  needed,  and  here  she 
could  be  reached  by  Gookin.  To  hide  her  ner- 
vousness, she  remained  with  no  one  for  any  con- 
siderable time,  but  flitted  through  the  house 
from  drawing-room  to  kitchen  and  cellar  to  gar- 
ret, a  picture  of  charming  impetuosity  and  girlish 
buoyancy.  At  least  so  thought  Lieutenant 
Charlton,  and  his  judgment  in  such  matters  was 
considered  trustworthy. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  evidences  of  the  cele- 
bration began  to  show  themselves.  Bands  of 
rollicking,  half-tipsy  soldiers  roamed  through 
the  streets,  occasionally  demonstrating  their 
brotherly  love  by  indulging  in  rousing  fist-fights. 

One,  of  special  liveliness,  in  front  of  the  house, 
led  old  Romney  to  remark:  "'Tis  curious  that 

[308] 


THE  TWELFTH  NIGHT  MASQUE 

the  roistering  at  the  breaking  up  of  the  Christ- 
mas season  takes  such  brutal,  silly  form.  But 
we  must  be  ready  for  it.  Have  we  plenty  of 
small  coins  in  the  house?" 

"More  of  them  than  aught  else,  I  fancy, 
Giles,"  said  his  wife,  with  a  fond  smile. 

"Well,  let's  have  'em  ready,  for  the  knaves 
will  not  neglect  us,  be  sure  of  that." 

With  candle-light  the  mid-winter  fete  began 
in  earnest.  Before  its  visible  forms  reached  the 
Romney  mansion,  there  were  sounds  in  the  air 
that  were  not  of  the  ordinary  course  of  war. 
Cracked  bugles  blew  terrific  blasts;  gongs  beat 
their  rasping  roundelay,  while  the  rattle  of  cow- 
bells ana  the  crazy  squealing  of  over-blown  fifes 
joined  in  the  mad  cnorus  that  raucously  pro- 
claimed to  the  inhabitants  of  Boston  the  fact 
that  Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 

Soon  a  band  of  revellers  turned  up  Winter 
Street,  and  the  noise  became  so  nerve-racking 
that  old  Giles,  non-musical  though  he  was,  and 
not  provided  with  sensitive  ears,  pressed  his 
hands  to  his  head  in  desperation,  while  Methuse- 
lah, the  family  cat,  expanded  his  tail,  wailed  his 
displeasure,  and  vanished  into  the  cellar. 

This  particular  cortege  was  made  up  of  two- 
score  sailors  from  the  transports  in  the  harbor, 
dressed  in  white  shirts  ornamented  with  parti- 
colored ribbons,  crossed  with  knots  and  garlands. 
They  marched  along  on  each  side  of  a  long  rope, 
attached  to  which  was  an  immense  plow  that 
bumped  and  careened  over  the  hard  ground  in  a 
very  burlesque  of  husbandry.  By  their  side 

[309] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

capered  a  yelling  pair  of  devils,  man  and  woman, 
with  a  small  imp  whose  duty  it  was  to  collect 
tribute  from  the  houses  they  passed.  Having 
reached  the  Romneys  and  obtained  a  liberal 
supply  of  small  coins  from  the  grinning  and  con- 
sequential Pompey,  they  passed  and  were  soon 
mercifully  lost  to  sight  and  sound. 

Constance  could  find  no  heart  for  this  sort  of 
funning,  and  she  had  retreated  to  the  rear  of  the 
house  after  a  first  sight  of  it.  She  could  scarcely 
control  her  nerves  for  apprehenison,  and  every 
unusual  noise  was  like  the  call  of  fate,  only  to  be 
proven  nothing  but  part  and  parcel  of  the  Eng- 
lishmen's revels.  But  in  a  little  while  there  was 
borne  in  upon  her  another  uproar,  that  some 
instinct  tola  her  was  at  least  worth  investigating. 
She  ran  lightly  to  the  spacious  and  comfortable 
front  room  at  the  left  of  the  hall,  which  was  still 
occupied  by  Lieutenant  Charlton.  The  officer 
was  sitting  by  a  window,  his  elbow  on  the  sill, 
and  his  head  resting  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  in 
an  attitude  of  deep  reverie.  But  he  rose  quickly 
at  the  sound  of  her  footfalls,  and  bowed  with  his 
unfailing  gallantry. 

"What  do  you  make  this  new  tumult  to  be, 
Lieutenant  Charlton?"  asked  the  girl. 

'Tis  another  party  of  Yuletide  beggars,  Mis- 
tress Drake,  I  fancy." 

"  I  thought  it  might  -  '  she  did  not  finish, 
and  after  a  brief  pause,  the  soldier  said  that 
which  was  near  his  heart. 

"Well,  Mistress  Drake,  to-morrow  I  suppose 

[310] 


THE  TWELFTH  NIGHT  MASQUE 

I  shall  say  farewell  to  this  household  that  has 
done  so  much  for  me." 

"We  are  certainly  glad  you  are  well  again," 
said  the  girl,  still  looking  from  the  window. 

"And  so  am  I,"  was  the  manly  reply.  " Even 
if  a  soldier's  quarters  are  not  much  like  home." 

"There,  they  are  coming,"  she  cried  ner- 
vously, and  Cnarlton  could  say  no  more.  He 
leaned  against  the  panes  and  tried  to  make  out 
the  cause  of  the  fresh  disturbance,  but  it  was  not 
until  a  group  of  torch-bearers  danced  into  view 
that  any  clear  conception  of  the  new  mummery 
could  be  had. 

Then  the  two  saw  that  another  body  of  twenty 
or  thirty  men  was  hauling  a  long  cart  that 
seemed  to  have  been  a  hayrack  in  its  more  palmy 
days,  but  whose  sides  were  now  covered  with 
canvas  upon  which  were  daubed  grotesque  pic- 
tures intended  to  represent  the  regions  of  eternal 
heat.  Shrieks  and  groans  of  the  feigned  damned 
rent  the  air,  while  a  huge  bell  borne  under  a  sort 
of  shoulder-litter  by  eight  men,  tolled  its  dismal, 
incessant  song  of  woe. 

The  attendant  crowd  sported  the  most  diverse 
and  absurd  raiment  ever  seen.  Bits  of  ancient 
uniforms  were  grotesquely  mingled  with  rustic 
garments,  while  odds  and  ends  of  every  descrip- 
tion were  used  to  produce  an  effect  that  was 
ludicrously  kaleidoscopic.  It  was  as  if  the  in- 
mates of  some  madhouse  had  been  turned  into 
a  curiosity  shop  and  then  given  their  freedom. 

"A  motley  crowd,"  observed  Charlton,  lan- 
guidly, "grotesque,  if  not  beautiful." 

[311] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

But  Constance  made  no  reply.  She  was 
watching  two  figures  that  had  left  the  cohort, 
as  it  halted  before  the  house,  and  had  come  up 
the  garden  walk  with  jaunty  step  and  shouts  for 
alms.  One,  dressed  as  a  devil,  a  tall  and  im- 
posing denizen  of  the  lower  regions,  had  been 
chasing  with  a  pitch-fork  his  companion,  who, 
it  was  clear,  was  supposed  to  be  a  grotesque 
parody  on  the  provincial  soldier.  To  the  girl 
there  seemed  a  vague  air  of  familiarity  about 
the  lofty  imp,  but  she  dismissed  the  thought  as 
he  pounded  lustily  on  the  door,  shouting  for 
tribute  to  the  King  of  Twelfth  Night. 

"Give  'em  something,  Pompey,"  cried  old 
Romney,  from  above  stairs.  But  the  negro  was 
slow,  and  Barbara  ran  to  the  door  with  a  few 
coins  and  laid  them  with  some  trepidation  in  the 
hands  of  the  devil. 

"Thankee,  miss,"  said  Satan  loudly.  Then 
in  a  whisper:  "Miss  Barbara,  'tis  Toby.  Wait 
here  jest  a  bit  and  I'll  send  your  brother  to 
yew. 

Then  he  vanished  behind  a  corner  of  the  house. 
'Tis  all  right,"  he  said,  to  a  figure  awaiting 
him  there.  Your  sister  waits  for  yew.  I'll 
draw  'tention  aout  yender."  And  he  pointed  to 
the  absurd  crew  in  the  street.  As  he  did  so,  he 
raised  his  great  body  above  the  sill  of  the  window, 
and  Constance,  startled  by  the  apparition  of 
Toby  Gookin,  could  not  refrain  from  uttering 
a  little  cry  of  surprise. 

"Whatever  is  the  matter?"  asked  Charlton, 
in  alarm,  rising  to  his  feet. 

(81«J 


THE  TWELFTH  NIGHT  MASQUE 

"Nothing  — I—" 

As  she  stepped  backward  quickly,  her  foot 
caught  in  the  folds  of  her  long  skirt,  and  she 
would  have  fallen  but  for  the  sustaining  arms 
of  the  soldier.  For  one  brief  moment  she  lay 
in  his  embrace  helpless. 

"She  is  there,"  whispered  Gookin,  pointing 
to  the  window. 

And  John  Brandon,  gazing  into  the  lighted 
room,  saw  all. 

With  a  catching  of  the  breath,  he  followed 
Toby  to  the  door  and  clasped  his  sister's  hands 
in  his  own,  telling  her  that  all  was  well,  and  urg- 
ing her  to  be  of  good  cheer.  A  few  more  words 
and  he  rejoined  the  disguised  Patriots  and 
the  rollicking  cortege  moved  on  with  shouts  and 
songs. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  wagon  creaks  and  groans 
strangely  for  one  without  a  load,"  thought  Charl- 
ton,  as  he  was  left  alone.  But  he  turned  to  his 
pipe  and  his  dreams,  now  to  be  enriched  by  the 
remembrance  of  the  brief  glimpse  of  paradise 
during  which  he  had  held  Constance  Drake  in 
his  arms. 

She  herself  had  scarcely  reached  the  top  of 
the  stairs,  when  Barbara  came  running  after, 
her  bosom  heaving. 

"  Oh,  Constance,  Constance,"  she  cried,  "  I've 
seen  John." 

*]John?     When?     Where?" 

"  Just  now  —  on  the  steps.  He  was  one  of 
the  masqueraders." 

"Then,  these  are  not  sailors  — " 

[sis] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"No,  they're  his  men.  And  they're  taking 
something  out  of  town." 

"I  see.7' 

"And  he  thanked  you,  Constance." 

Mistress  Drake  bit  her  lips  with  vexation  and 
injured  pride.  "Merely  sent  his  thanks,"  she 
thought. 

"And  he  said  such  a  strange  thing." 

"What  was  it,  dear?" 

"Oh,  I  can't  tell.  I  can't!"  protested  the 
little  girl. 

'You  must" 

There  was  something  in  the  command  that 
even  Barbara  had  never  known  before,  and  her 
feeble  will  yielded. 

"He  said:  'I  thank  her  for  her  love  for  the 
cause,  even  though  she  has  none  for  me." 

"What?"  was  the  astonished  query.  "You 
must  be  dreaming!" 

"I'm  not,"  said  Barbara  stoutly.  "Those 
were  his  very  words,  although  what  they  mean 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

'They  mean,  Barbara  Brandon,  that  your 
brother  is  —  a  fool!"  was  the  energetic  response. 


[814] 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
A  "  Yankee  Girl" 

SLEEP  was  long  in  coming  to  press  down 
Constance  Drake's  eyelids  that  night.  Over 
and  over  again  the  strange  song  of  Barbara 
Brandon's  words  was  sung  in  her  heart,  now 
as  a  mournful  chant,  again  as  a  lively,  but  vexa- 
tious lilt,  and  still  again  as  a  dreamy,  mystic  sob 
of  music.  What  did  it  mean  ? 

How  could  the  girl  unravel  the  tangled  skein 
of  words  and  thoughts  that  were  so  at  variance 
from  that  which  ought  to  be  ?  With  the  mem- 
ory of  those  moments  in  the  Vassall  House  at 
Cambridge,  how  could  any  man  say  such  a 
thing?  Why  had  she  not  asked  Barbara  again 
about  the  message?  She  would  do  so  in  the 
morning,  she  decided.  And  then,  as  the  blood 
of  pride  warmed  her  cheek,  she  told  her  com- 
panionable pillow  that  never,  never  could  she 
do  so  unwomanly  an  act. 

"Have  I  no  pride  left,"  she  asked,  "no  sense 
of  shame  ?  What  right  has  he  given  me  to  ques- 
tion his  acts  ?  Why  should  I  allow  others,  and 
least  of  all  his  sister,  to  see  that  I  feel  the  af- 
front he  has  put  upon  me  ?" 

For  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  it  was  an 
affront.  The  words,  if  spoken  to  her,  she  could 

[815] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

have  resolved  into  their  elements  of  nonsense, 
or,  at  least,  have  sent  the  young  man  about  his 
business  with  something  to  think  upon.  But 
that  miserable  sneaking  away  in  the  dark,  with 
such  a  message  to  her  through  another's  mouth 
—  it  was  enough  to  anger  a  saint. 

"Yes,  it  was  an  affront,"  she  said,  aloud,  "in- 
tended and  unprovoked,  for  he  never  even  asked 
to  see  me.  He  came  to  this  house,  to  my  house, 
and  saw  his  sister  and  ignored  me  —  after  — 
after  that  day  at  Cambridge.  It  was  cruel, 
cruel!" 

And  here  befell  a  most  unusual  manifestation. 
Tears  slowly  forced  themselves  from  around  the 
sleepless  eyes  and  trickled  out  upon  the  satin 
cheeks.  Tears,  from  Mistress  Constance  Drake, 
the  spoiled  beauty,  the  be-praised  and  be-poemed. 
And  for  a  man!  Who  of  all  the  gay  and  gallant 
crowd  of  those  who  would  be  her  courtiers,  if 
they  could,  would  credit  it  ? 

Suddenly,  the  girl  sat  bolt  upright  with  the 
inspiring  effect  of  a  new  thought.  That  day  at 
Lexington,  that  injury  to  Brandon's  head! 
Might  not  some  new  worry  and  a  course  of  sleep- 
less nights  have  turned  his  brain  again,  so  that 
it  was  not  the  true  John  Brandon  who  spoke 
last  night  to  Barbara  ?  This  was  so  soothing  a 
speculation  that  it  sent  the  girl  to  sleep  and  to 
dream.  And  behold,  in  the  land  of  fantasy, 
Major  John  Brandon  and  the  whole  American 
army  stood  in  front  of  the  Romney  house,  thun- 
dered on  the  door,  and  called  upon  her  to  sur- 

[316] 


A  "YANKEE  GIRL" 

render  in  the  name  of  King  George  tk^-  -Third 
and  the  Continental  Congress,   .vlitiuoif  h 

But  it  was  only  Barbara  i  Brandon^  it 
outside  her  chamber/-    i  i;TK  I  Kid  *^d  nv/o 

"The  sun's  up,  Connie,"  sang  the  little;  girl;  Ji 

"  So's  the  niece;"  cried  Mistress  Drake,  ffirow- 
ing    back    her    silken,    wadded    coverlid,  i<.  and 
springing  to  the  floor  like  a  young  wild  thitfg. 
For  a  moment  she  shivered,   as  the  chillr  axil 
struck  through  her  dainty  linen  robe,  ^ith-titsl 
frills  and  laces.:  orll  «B  </mp.>ji  jfhot  i^/im!  mix  or(J 

"Ugh,"  she  chatteredj;<'it  fe  <iold  enough  -thiisi 
morning,  I  fancy,  to  remind  us  that  ;  it!  )  iihrtJ 
spring  hereabouts,  no  matter  what  a  stray^bird 
raay  say.^>  B0olB9f  (8iiolB9i  tSLfoIoar  ri  ;••//•  on  hnr>'* 
;  -But  she  dashed  courageously'  i*»;tiie;'ahii6st 
freezing  water  in  her  bowl,  and  glowed  rosily 
as  the  last  cobweb  of  the  night  was  swept  f  com 
het  charming  head.     Then  back  'again*  came' 
thfe  Brandon  idea  and  the  reiteration  of  it  all. 
Of  a  sudden  a  deep  and  musical 
outside  her  door. 

Good  morning,  Mistress 

one  has  to  be  astir  right  early  not  t 
ij  j       M-      »         .rr.fcTKor 

already  up  and  smiling.    ...^  r/r     c.   .[ 

"Lieutenant  Charlton,  and  he 
o>y,"   thought  %ns^ce.     With: 
came  the  recollection  of  last  night's 
and  half  -fall  in  the  soldier's 
to  keep  my  footing  better 
claimed,  "for  there'll  be  no  one  to  catch  me. 
How  ridiculous  I  must  have  seeinbd;";    And,1 


** 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

ever  responsive  to  the  comic  side  of  things,  she 
laughed  heartily. 

Old  Giles  Romney  heard  the  peal  of  merri- 
ment down  by  his  breakfast-room  fireside,  and 
it  warmed  his  heart. 

"What  a  girl!"  he  thought;  "nothing  can 
daunt  her." 

But  he  did  not  see  the  swift  cloud  that  crossed 
his  niece's  face,  like  a  shadow  over  a  smiling 
lake.  It  was  half -frightened,  half-amazed;  then 
the  sun  burst  forth  again,  as  the  girl  flew  to  her 
mirror  and  pointed  a  dimpled  finger  at  the  por- 
trait there. 

"  He  saw  you  —  saw  us,"  she  cried  excitedly, 
"and  he  was  jealous,  jealous,  jealous  of  me!" 

She  finished  her  dressing  with  an  obligate  of 
song,  and  went  to  the  breakfast  table  in  the  mer- 
riest mood  for  many  a  day.  The  whole  house- 
hold seemed  to  fall  under  the  girl's  spell,  and  the 
meal  was  eaten  with  a  zest  and  gaiety  quite  un- 
known of  recent  months. 

"Oh,  I  had  forgot,"  suddenly  cried  Constance. 

"What,  child?"  asked  her  uncle  indulgently. 

"The  play-  'tis  to-morrow  night,  and  to- 
day's the  rehearsal." 

*' What  play?     Where?" 

"At  Faneuil  Hall.     'Tis  Burgoyne's." 

"Burgoyne?"  asked  the  old  man,  in  some 
perplexity. 

'  Yes,"  volunteered  Lieutenant  Charlton,  "  a 
farce  called  'The  Blockade  of  Boston." 

"Anything  but  farce,  I  should  say,"  observed 
Constance  drily. 

[318] 


A "YANKEE  GIRL" 

"But  Burgoyne  has  sailed,"  said  Giles. 

;'  Yes  —  to  escape  the  critics,  'tis  said.  To- 
morrow night,  and  rehearsal  to-day.  And  I've 
not  looked  at  my  part.  .  .  .  Oh,  tis  but  three 
lines.  But  my  dress,  that  needs  a  deal  of  re- 
hearsing." 

"Constance,  why  are  you  concerned  in  this?" 
asked  her  uncle  gravely,  when  the  two  were  alone 
after  breakfast.  '  'Tis  scarcely  a  time  for  play- 
acting —  and  —  with  —  with  our  enemies,  too." 

"Ii  they  were  our  friends,  uncle,"  was  the 
calm  reply,  "there  would  be  no  need.  But  our 
enemies,  —  shall  we  not  cultivate  them  to  the 
possible  comfort  of  our  friends  and  their  own 
confounding,  it  may  be?" 

The  old  man  half  sighed,  half  smiled  in  his 
perplexity. 

*  I  never  did  understand  you,  girl,"  he  said, 
"any  more  than  I  did  your  father.     But  I  love 
you  as  I  did  him.  .  .  .  But  what  do  you  mean  — 
in  plain  English  ?" 

*  In  plain  -  -  Yankee  —  I've  found  that  even 
a  non-combatant  can  be  of  use  if  she  is  —  well, 
not  unpopular,  and  is  in  the  camp  of  the  enemy.'* 

Giles  Komney  rose  from  his  chair,  trembling 
upon  his  stick,  and  cast  the  look  of  a  hawk  upon 
the  now  serious  girl  from  his  still  keen  eyes. 

"Connie,  girl,"  he  exclaimed,  his  voice  qua- 
vering with  emotion,  "you  don't  mean  that  you 
are  a  s — " 

A  warm  palm  stayed  the  progress  of  the  other 
letters  from  his  mouth  very  effectually. 

"Don't  say  it,  uncle;  'tis  not  a  nice  word,  and 

[319] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

General  Howe  has  some  very  settled  ideas  upon 
the  subject.  Now,  you  would  not  like  to  see 
your  niece  at  the  end  of  a  — " 

"Connie,  Connie!"  he  cried,  in  real  distress. 

"  Of  a  prison  corridor,"  she  continued.  "  Nay, 
do  not  worry;  'tis  not  so  bad  as  that.  I  may 
have  been  of  some  slight  service  to  the  cause, 
but  I've  done  no  more  than  exercise  a  woman's 
privilege  and  carry  gossip." 

And  then  nothing  would  answer  but  that  Con- 
stance tell  her  uncle  of  all  that  she  had  been  able 
to  do  and  of  the  prospects  for  the  Patriots  so  far 
as  she  knew  them,  to  which  recital  he  listened 
with  all  a  boy's  ardor  for  a  story  of  heroes.  Yet, 
when  his  mind  came  back  to  the  subject  of  the 
theatricals  in  Faneuil  Hall,  he  was  not  quite 
satisfied. 

"  But,  Constance,"  he  said,  as  the  girl  rose  to 
go,  "  is  this  play  affair  quite  —  quite  decorous  ?" 

"I  am  told  by  those  familiar  with  General 
Burgoyne's  previous  theatricals  that  it  is  sure  to 
be  quite  stupid." 

*  Yes,  yes;  but  for  a  lady  - 

"Oh,  all  the  officers'  wives  who  were  not 
asked  —  and  some  who  were  —  are  furiously 
jealous  because  I  was  invited.  And  seriously, 
the  best  -  -  Tory  ladies  of  the  camp  take  part  in 
these  theatricals." 

That  assurance,  and  the  further  statement 
that  places  had  positively  been  reserved  for 
Tabitha  and  himself,  nearly  finished  the  old 
fellow's  qualms,  and  he  passed  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  wondering  at  his  niece's  infinite  variety. 

[320] 


A  "YANKEE  GIRL" 

Constance  herself  was  busy  with  her  cos- 
tume, a  simple  white  dress  made  a  little  more 
dashing  by  some  fresh  ribbons  and  bows.  At 
last,  with  Barbara's  help,  it  was  put  in  order, 
and  its  wearer  looked  with  satisfaction  at  her 
reflection  in  the  long  mirror. 

"For  you  know,  Bab,"  she  remarked  philo- 
sophically, "I'm  to  play  a  Yankee  girl,  and  I 
must  look  my  best,  for  trie  sake  of  the  fair  fame 
of  the  town.' 

Whereupon  she  smiled  at  her  own  curious 
conceit,  and  from  smiling  went  to  mirth  of  a 
broader  and  more  rippling  sort. 

"Whatever  are  you  laughing  so  for?"  asked 
patient  Barbara,  who  had  asked  the  self-same 
question  perhaps  hundreds  of  times  before. 

"  If  they  only  knew  how  I  shall  love  my  part, 
they'd  as  soon  invite  a  nest  of  hornets  to  join  in 
their  theatricals,"  said  Mistress  Drake. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
The  Play  at  Faneuil  Hatt 

AROUND  the  doors  of  Faneuil  Hall  on  the 
following  evening  the  knots  of  sightseers 
—  for  there  were  still  those  in  old  Boston  who 
were  quick  to  respond  to  the  announcement  of  a 
spectacle  —  found  much  with  which  to  regale 
themselves.  Crowds  of  British  officers  in  full 
uniform,  Loyalist  women  in  brave  array  of  silks 
and  satins,  velvet  cloaks  and  furred  hoods,  and 
town  Tories  in  evening  garb,  were  pouring  into 
the  narrow  edifice  and  up  over  the  stairways  to 
the  auditorium  that  had  now  become  a  theatre. 

Outside  there  was  as  much  brilliancy  as  the 
time  would  permit,  for  dozens  of  candle-lan- 
thorns  had  been  fixed  upon  upright  pieces  of 
joist,  while  the  flaming  torches  of  some  of  the 
ultra-fashionables,  aping  the  ways  of  London, 
threw  a  warm  and  jovial  air  over  everything. 

Sergeants  acted  as  doorkeepers,  ana  likewise 
passea  out  printed  programmes  which  an- 
nounced that  the  entertainment  for  the  evening 
would  consist  of  "The  Busybody,"  and  "The 
Blockade  of  Boston,"  a  farce  by  General  Bur- 
gpyne.  It  was  also  hoped  by  the  Society  for 
Promoting  Theatrical  Amusements,  "that  gen- 
tlemen of  the  army  would  not  use  their  influence 


THE  PLAY  AT  FANEUIL  HALL 

to  disobey  the  order  not  to  take  money  at  the 
door,"  and  it  was  further  announced  that  the 
house  had  been  "strictly  surveyed  by  the  man- 
agement and  tickets  sold  for  the  number  it  would 
contain,  in  order  to  prevent  overcrowding." 

That  these  precautions  had  been  wisely  taken 
was  made  evident  soon  after  the  doors  had 
opened.  A  young  and  callow  officer,  who  per- 
chance had  had  more  grog  at  the  Coffee  House 
hard  by  than  was  good  for  him,  threw  himself 
into  the  brilliant,  chattering  stream  with  the 
hope  of  being  swept  by  the  doorkeeper  in  the 
general  rush,  ticketless. 

But  a  huge  sergeant  held  the  red  bar  of  his 
brawny  arm  before  him,  respectfully  but  stoutly. 

'Your  ticket,  sir,"  he  demanded. 

"Ticket,  forsooth?  Ah,  to  be  sure.  Why 
—  curse  these  knavish  pockets  —  I  —  I  —  egad, 
sirrah,  I  left  it  at  barracks,  dolt  that  I  am.  Tis 
all  the  same;  permit  me  to  enter." 

"That,  sir,  may  not  be,"  replied  the  doorman, 
stolidly. 

"Egad,  'tis  here,"  cried  the  youngster,  taking 
a  gold-piece  from  his  waistcoat,  and  pressing  it 
into  the  palm  of  the  sergeant.  It  was  a  heavy 
temptation,  for  the  feeling  of  the  metal  would 
have  won  many  a  richer  man,  but,  with  a  sigh, 
the  soldier  handed  back  the  money,  a  true  if 
nameless  hero  in  those  days  when  money  meant 
so  much. 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,"  he  said,  "but  orders  are 
orders,  and  I  cannot  let  you  by." 

AJ1  this  bit  of  by-play  was  thoroughly  ab- 

[323] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

sorbed  by  a  special  group  of  onlookers,  among 
whom  the  small  George  Kobert  Twelves  Hewes 
was  the  head  and  centre. 

"Pshaw!"  that  little  man  exclaimed  disdain- 
fully, "  he  could  'a'  got  in  easy  enow,  if  he'd  only 
known  how." 

"Indeed?"  said  a  doubter,  "and  how  would 
you  have  done,  Mr.  Hewes?" 

"Just  as  I  did  once,  and  there  were  two  of 
'em." 

"How  was  it?     Tell  us,"  was  the  cry. 

"'Twas  when  they  first  put  a  guard  at  the 
wharves.  I  wanted  to  go  down  one  night  for 
—  well,  that's  naught  to  do  with  it.  Two  big 
sentries  barred  my  way. 

"'The  countersign!'  they  cried.  I  gave  it 
to  'em." 

"How  did  you  know  it?"  asked  the  man  who 
had  been  sceptical. 

"  I  carried  it  with  me  —  in  the  pocket  of  my 
coat.  'Twas  a  bottle  of  rum,  and  I  had  its  mate 
in  t'other  pocket.  Well,  when  I  came  back 
from  the  wnarf  they  were  very  friendly.  Next 
day  I  saw  them  flogged  for  sleeping  at  their  post." 

Into  the  very  midst  of  the  laughter  that  greeted 
this  sally  of  Hewes',  came  the  Romney  party. 
As  Constance  found  herself  caught  in  the 
swirl  of  beauty  and  gallantry,  fashion  and  laugh- 
ter, she  began  to  regret  her  agreement  to  be  part 
of  that  which  she  now  loathed. 

"I'm  almost  sorry  I  agreed  to  come,  nunky," 
she  whispered. 

"  Let's  turn  back,  child,  then,"  he  replied. 

[324] 


THE  PLAY  AT  FANEUIL  HALL 

"No.  I've  given  my  word  and  must  see  it 
through.  Besides,  the  money  goes  to  the  wid- 
ows and  orphans  of  the  soldiers,  and  they  are 
not  to  blame  for  what  the  King  does." 

"Let  us  say  the  King's  ministers,  and  not  the 
King,  Constance,  till  we  know  further,"  was  the 
old  man's  gentle  rebuke. 

But  here,  in  the  lower  hall,  was  Lord  Percy, 
waiting  to  receive  them,  smiling  and  bowing, 
but  to  Constance  alone. 

My  aunt  and  my  uncle,  my  Lord,"  said  the 
>ointedly. 

thousand  pardons,"  cried  the  officer;  "my 
poor  sight  must  bear  the  brunt  for  all  such  of- 
fenses." 

"But  you  saw  me,"  observed  Constance, 
sweetly. 

"That  I  swear  I  would  do,  though  I  were  as 
blind  as  ^Esop,"  cried  the  Earl,  with  a  fine  flour- 
ish of  his  pearl  snuff-box,  as  he  deftly  inserted  a 
pinch  of  the  brown  powder  into  each  nostril. 
'  But  let  us  upstairs  and  secure  seats." 

Once  within  the  atmosphere  of  powder  and 
perfumes,  surrounded  by  the  hum  of  hundreds 
of  tongues,  gay,  gossiping,  witty,  kindly  or  mali- 
cious as  the  case  might  be,  part  and  parcel  of 
this  flouncing  of  skirts,  this  swaggering  of 
swords,  this  fluttering  of  fans  and  swaying  of 
feathers,  Constance  felt  something  of  that  sen- 
timent which  had  flushed  her  cheeks  at  the  sight 
of  the  riding-school  in  the  South  Church. 

To  be  sure,  there  was  here  no  actual  desecra- 
tion, and  yet  the  insult  was  strong.  To  make  a 

[325] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

place  for  British  farces  of  this  room,  dedicated 
by  Samuel  Adams  himself  to  the  cause  of  lib- 
erty, and  after  that  the  scene  of  so  many  of  those 
spontaneous  and  audacious  mass  meetings  of 
tne  foes  of  tyranny,  seemed  to  her  little  less  re- 
volting than  the  mockery  of  a  shrine.  Yet  she 
kept  her  heart  from  her  sleeve,  and  chatted  and 
jested,  smiled  and  nodded,  like  a  true  little  Tory. 

Before  they  reached  their  seats,  Dr.  Gair, 
quite  his  gay  and  ruddy  self  again,  came  trotting 
up  with  felicitations  for  the  girl's  beauty  and 
handsome  toilet,  as  well  as  for  the  reappearance 
into  society  of  Giles  Romney. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  stirring  out,"  he  said.     "  'Tis 
good  for  you,  friend  Romney,  and  good  for  you, 
too,    Mistress    Connie.     Roses    you    know  - 
and  he  pinched  his  own  fat  cheeks.     "And  how 
are  you,  Mistress  Tabitha?" 

"I  should  not  complain,  doctor,  although  I 
ought  not  to  be  out.  .  .  .  But  I've  never  seen  a 
play  in  my  life,"  she  added  simply. 

'They're  not  many  this  side  the  water,"  re- 
plied the  surgeon.  "But  you've  not  missed 
much.  The  stage  has  degenerated  of  late  years 
—  vilely,  vilely!" 

Thus  freeing  his  mind,  and  with  a  sigh  for  the 
glories  of  the  stage  in  London,  he  followed  the 
Romney  party  to  their  seats  pointed  out  to  them 
by  my  Lord  Rawdon,  who  was  acting  as  an 
usher,  and  from  which  Constance  could  see 
'The  Busybody,"  and  yet  have  easy  access  to 
the  stage  door  when  Burgoyne's  farce,  in  which 

[326] 


THE  PLAY  AT  FANEUIL  HALL 

she  and  half  a  dozen  Tory  young  women  were  to 
take  part,  should  be  in  readiness. 

No  sooner  were  they  in  their  places  than  the 
doctor  nudged  Constance  with  the  familiarity 
of  a  bluff  old  friend.  "I  see  you  are  to  take 
part  in  Burgoyne's  nonsense,"  he  said.  "He 
write  a  play,  indeed!  His  tragedies  are  farces; 
his  farces  tragic.'* 

'You  'see,   Dr.  Gair?"  she  replied,  smiling. 
"Is  it,  then,  chronicled  in  the  journals?" 

"I  don't  read  them!  But  it  is  set  down 
here.  .  .  .  Oh,  they  have  all  the  fittings,  play  bills 
and  all,  except  playwrights  —  and  actors,"  he 
added  to  himself. 

Now  a  string  band  struck  up  a  sort  of  over- 
ture, in  which  'Rule  Britannia"  was  the  chief 
theme,  and  the  buzzing  of  the  fashionable  in- 
sects almost  ceased.  Then,  as  the  final  flourish 
was  given,  the  green  baize  curtain  went  creaking 
up,  and  the  comedy  of  "The  Busybody"  was 
under  way. 

Just  what  this  dramatic  offering  was  all  about, 
Constance  could  never  quite  remember.  She 
was  so  occupied  with  her  own  thoughts,  and 
with  a  sort  of  premature  stage-fright,  as  she 
realized  that  in  a  few  minutes  she  herself  would 
be  facing  that  crowd  of  foppish  soldiers,  with 
their  oglings  and  something  worse,  that  she 
scarce  heard  a  word. 

She  also  fell  to  wondering  about  the  character 
of  "The  Blockade  of  Boston."  What  if,  as  was 
quite  likely,  there  were  in  it  insults  to  her  coun- 
try, and  vile  imputations  upon  her  countrymen  ? 

[827] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

That  was  something  she  had  not  reckoned  with. 
Yet  she  did  know  that  her  share  consisted  of  but 
the  briefest  of  appearances  on  the  stage  and  one 
or  two  speeches  in  concert  with  the  other  young 
ladies.  And  these  remarks  were,  fortunately, 
quite  colorless.  Whatever  happened,  she  would 
keep  her  head,  and  play  her  part  as  royally  as 
any. 

The  shouts  of  applause,  the  clapping  of  hands, 
the  pounding  of  swords,  and  the  almost  futile 
squeakings  of  the  violins  roused  her  to  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  first  play  was  ended.  Then  all 
was  life  and  bustle  again,  as  the  throng  turned 
to  the  refreshment  room,  while  a  dozen  attendants 
went  the  rounds  for  the  trimming  of  the  candles. 
Escorted  by  Charlton,  and  surrounded  by  a 
coterie  of  officers  she  knew,  Mistress  Drake  was 
as  gay  and  volatile  and  flippant  as  any  Tory 
lady  could  possibly  be  expected  to  be,  and 
Charlton  might  have  fought  half  a  dozen  duels 
had  he  chosen  to  resent  a  trifle  more  the  atten- 
tions his  handsome  charge  drew  to  herself. 

But  this  triumph  was  not  for  long,  by  reason 
of  the  approach  of  an  officer  whose  pleasing  duty 
Itf^was  to  gather  into  one  charming  bevy  the 
young  women  who  were  billed  to  appear  in 
'The  Blockade  of  Boston,"  and  Mistress  Drake 
wentf -with  thenY.  gflirftemoa  buu  a^nifvo  ihrfi 

The  audience  seated  itself  again,  and  a  slight 
hum  of  pleasurable  expectancy  arose  as  it 
awaited  the  supposedly  humorous  piece  of  Bur- 
goyne.  Here  was  to  be  some  pointed  fun  at  the 
expense  of  the  rebels,  and  fun  was  at  a  premium 

[348] 


THE  PLAY  AT  FANEUIL  HALL 

in  these  days.  So,  made  especially  tolerant  by 
certain  of  the  refreshments,  the  crowd  was  quite 
ready  to  be  amused. 

And  amused  it  was  by  the  appearance  of  the 
first  character  to  come  upon  the  stage.  This 
was  a  burlesque  apparition  of  George  Washing- 
ton, dressed  in  uncouth  and  ill-fitting  clothes,  a 
vile  travesty  of  a  Continental  uniform,  wearing 
a  huge  red  wig  and  carrying  an  absurd  rusty 
sword.  His  attendant  was  a  country  lout, 
garbed  in  fantastic  farm-clothes.  His  weapon 
was  a  ramshackle  gun  some  seven  or  eight  feet 
long,  and  every  time  he  saluted  his  general  he 
would  trip  himself  up  with  it  in  a  truly  numorous 
way. 

The  mimic  Washington's  first  utterance  was 
a  coarse  guffaw,  which  was  taken  up  by  the 
audience  and  hurled  from  floor  to  ceiling  in  one 
roar  of  delight.  Truly,  General  Burgoyne  had 
begun  passing  well,  and  cries  of  approval  almost 
obliterated  the  words  the  Patriot  commander's 
lieutenant  was  trying  to  say  to  him. 

At  the  moment  quiet  was  restored  and  Wash- 
ington opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  a  British 
sergeant,  flushed  and  panting,  strode  down  one 
of  tne  aisles,  then  turned  and  faced  the  throng. 

'The  Yankees  are  attacking  our  works  on 
Bunker  Hill,"  he  cried  excitedly. 

"Ha,  ha!"  -"Well  devised,"  -"A  pretty 
wit,"  were  the  comments  of  the  audience,  who 
saw  in  this  realistic  touch  a  highly  diverting  in- 
vention. The  ladies  laughed  and  snapped  their 
fans,  and  the  farce  was  aoout  to  proceed. 

[3S9] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Then  up  from  the  centre  of  the  house  jumped 
Lord  Howe,  his  face  pale  and  his  mouth  twitch- 
ing. Those  who  looked  upon  him  were  sobered 
in  an  instant. 

"Officers,  to  your  alarm-posts!  "  he  shouted. 

In  an  instant  the  hall  was  transformed. 
Glittering  redcoats  arose  in  every  part  of  the 
floor,  and,  heedless  of  the  shrieks  and  swoonings 
of  some  of  the  more  hysterical  women,  ploughed 
their  way  to  the  doors,  and  clanked  down  over 
the  stairs  in  a  furious  hurry,  while  the  Tory 
beaux  were  left  to  pilot  the  panic-stricken  ladies 
from  the  hall  as  best  they  might. 

Then  the  actors  came  tumbling  out  over  the 
front  of  the  stage,  rubbing  their  powder  and  paint 
from  their  faces  as  they  ran,  and  adding  more 
than  their  proper  quota  to  the  din  and  confusion. 
It  was  a  rout  of  satins,  a  stampede  of  laces,  a 
mad  rush  to  an  unknown  refuge  against  a  peril 
no  one  really  understood. 

Soon  Constance  joined  her  people,  as  calm 
and  unruffled  as  if  she  had  been  coming  to  tea 
at  home.  She  reassured  her  terrified  aunt,  then 
turned  to  her  uncle  with  a  bitter  smile. 

"This  diversion  saved  a  scene  of  a  different 
sort,"  she  said.  "If  I  had  ever  gone  on  that 
stage  I  must  have  cried  out  ana  denounced 
them  all.  Now  let  us  go  home." 

Conditions  in  the  street  below,  where  Pompey 
met  them  with  chattering  teeth  and  cocked  hat 
all  awry,  were  exciting  enough.  Lights  flashed 
to  and  fro,  oaths  and  commands  were  mingled 
with  the  rattle  of  military  equipments  and  the 

[380] 


THE  PLAY  AT  FANEUIL  HALL 

roll  of  drums,  while  from  afar  off  came  the  spite- 
ful pop-pop  of  musketry,  the  sign  that  some- 
thing was  amiss  at  the  British  outposts  in 
Charlestown.  It  turned  out  to  be  but  a  puny 
and  fleeting  attack,  but  it  had  done  its  work  well 
so  far  as  the  theatricals  of  Jan.  8,  1776,  were 
concerned. 

As  the  Romney  party  drew  away  from  the 
radiance  of  the  windows  of  the  hall,  Constance, 
who  was  bringing  up  the  rear  with  Pompey, 
heard  of  a  sudden  a  half -whispered,  half -familiar 
voice. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,"  it  said.  "The  attack 
is  only  a  skirmish." 

She  turned  abruptly,  but  only  in  time  to  see  a 
cloaked  figure  melting  into  the  blackness. 

"  Who  was  that,  Pompey  ?  "  she  asked  sharply. 
"Deed,  I  didn't  see  nobody,  missy,"  replied 
the  negro,  his  voice  trembling,  "Did  you?" 

"Certainly,  and  heard  him  too." 

"  Well,  I  didn't,  missy.  Mebbe  I'se  not  takin* 
as  much  notice  as  us'al.  I  guess  I  ain't  a  Pigmyl- 
ion  o'  brav'ry." 

At  home,  Barbara,  whom  no  cajoling  nor 
even  commanding  had  been  sufficient  to  carry 
to  the  theatricals,  was  eager  for  the  news. 

"How  was  the  play,  Connie?"  she  asked,  in 
her  childlike  fashion.  "Did  you  enjoy  it,  and 
why  — " 

"It  was  a  —  a  nightmare,  Bab,"  was  the  em- 
phatic reply.  "  Don't  ever  speak  of  it  to  me.  .  .  . 
As  we  came  home,  Barbara,  someone  spoke  to 

[331] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

me  in  the  darkness.  ...  I  think  it  was  your 
brother." 

"Very  likely,"  said  the  little  girl  calmly. 

"Very  likely?  Why,  what  do  you  mean?" 
asked  Constance,  tossing  her  head. 

"Why,  he  said  he  might  stay  in  town  a  few 

j  i> 

days. 


[Mt] 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
"Speak  of  Him  no  More" 

sun  that  poured  in  at  the  windows  of 
Dan  MacAlpme's  fencing-loft  next  morn- 
ing illumined  a  cheery  sight,  and  served  as  a 
pleasant  accompaniment  to  a  merry  sound. 
This  latter  was  the  whistling  of  the  old  soldier, 
which  in  a  way  set  the  tune  for  the  strokes  of 
the  brush  with  which  he  was  cleaning  a  red  uni- 
form of  the  British  army.  Seated  upon  a  cedar 
chest,  from  which  he  nad  just  taken  the  gar- 
ments, he  stroked  the  cloth  tenderly,  as  if  afraid 
of  doing  it  injury,  and  yet  briskly  enough  to  re- 
move the  least  suspicion  of  dust  that  might  be 
hidden  in  its  scarlet  meshes. 

With  his  grizzled  hair  tightly  curled,  his  ruddy 
face  shining  with  good-nature,  and  his  lips 
pursed  to  the  production  of  jig,  rigadoon,  and 
an  occasional  slowing  to  minuet,  he  was  a  sight 
to  drive  away  melancholy.  Old  Sol  smiled  at 
him  through  the  panes,  and  went  his  way,  satis- 
fied. 

"Whirra,"  he  cried  to  no  one,  "how  monny 
toimes  have  Oi  claned  this  same  ould  coat,  d'ye 
think?'*  And  receiving  no  reply,  he  brushed 
away  and  whistled  more  energetically  than  ever. 

"e  had  just  arisen  from  the  cedar  chest,  with 

[sss] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

the  coat  over  his  arm,  when  a  lively  rataplan 
was  beaten  on  the  door  of  the  loft. 

"Come  in,  God  bless  ye,"  he  cried  heartily, 
rather  expecting  Hewes  or  some  other  of  his 
few  Patriot  cronies  left  in  town.  But  no.  What 
did  enter  with  pretty  gustiness  was  a  delectable 
vision  in  dark  red,  with  a  fur  hood  from  which 
looked  out  two  sparkling  eyes  and  glowed  two 
rose-like  cheeks,  the  result  of  a  winter  forenoon's 
brisk  walk. 

"Good-morrow,  Dan,"  cried  Mistress  Drake, 
"  but  —  but  you  are  not  ill  ?  " 

"111?"  exclaimed  the  fencer,  "ill,  is  it?  Oi 
niver  felt  betther  in  me  loife.  What  led  ye  to 
think  Oi  was  ill,  darlint?" 

"That  stupid  Pompey  told  me  he  heard  you 
were  down  with  rheum,  and  I  came  here  to  see 
if  I  might  not  be  of  service." 

"Bless  yer  heart,  lass,  for  thot  same.  But 
instid  o'  bein'  down  with  a  rheum  Oi  am  up  in 
me  room  —  Howly  Saint  Patrick,  forgive  me  for 
a  bad  jist.  .  .  .  But  now  ye're  here,  'tis  well  sint 
ye  are,  well  sint,  indade. 

And  the  old  fellow  winked,  smiled,  stuck  his 
tongue  in  his  cheek,  and  looked  as  much  a  pic- 
ture of  mystery  as  was  possible  with  his  frank 
face. 

"Why  'well  sent,'  Dan?"  asked  Constance, 
as  duly  puzzled  as  he  had  intended  she  should  be. 

"Why?  Oh,  well,  jist  for  a  wee  bit  of  a  rai- 
son  of  me  own,  darlint,  which  Oi  will  now  thry  to 
bring  forth." 

So  saying  he  walked  to  a  certain  portion  of  the 

[334] 


"SPEAK  OF  HIM  NO  MORE" 

floor,  and  tapped  cabalistically  upon  it  with  his 
heel.  Then,  with  a  broad  smile,  he  returned 
to  put  the  red  coat  away  in  the  cedar  chest. 

Oh,  Dan,"  said  Constance,  with  half-jesting 
reproach,  "you  treating  a  British  uniform  so 
monstrous  carefully?  Fie,  sir!" 

"Ah,  Connie,  girl,"  he  replied,  "ye  don't 
know  who's  'tis,  now,  do  ye  ?  " 

"Yours?" 

"  Go  way  wid  yer  blarney.  Can't  ye  say  'tis 
the  uniform  of  a  captain  ?  Sure,  Oi  niver  had  a 
commission.  .  .  .  No,  not  moine,  Connie,  but 
once  worn  by  wan  very  dear  to  me  —  one  who 
knew  you" 

"Not  — not— " 

"Yis,  yer  father's  own,  darlint.  An'  thot's 
why  ivery  twicet  a  month  Oi  bring  it  out  and  say 
thot  it's  put  in  proper  shape.  An'  so  Oi'll  al- 
ways do,  though  Oi  doubt  not  'tw'u'd  be  blue  and 
buff  were  the  captain  here  the  day." 

Constance's  heart  swelled  with  an  emotion 
that  was  sweet  and  sad  at  once.  Poignant 
grief  she  could  not  feel,  but  she  realized  that 
tender  melancholy  that  comes  to  most  human 
hearts  at  the  sight  of  the  long  unseen  things  of 
childhood.  And  although  memory  failed  her, 
she  knew  that  once  her  baby  head  had  rested  on 
the  breast  of  that  old  coat,  and  that  strong  arms 
within  its  drooping  sleeves  had  enwrapt  her  safe 
from  all  harm. 

She  smiled  through  her  tear-dimmed  eyes. 

"  Was  —  this  what  you  meant  when  you  said 

[335] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

I  was 'well  sent,'  Dan?"  she  asked  gently.  He 
scratched  his  head  confusedly. 

"Not  ixactly,  darlint,  though  'tis  not  so  bad. 
No,"  he  exclaimed  with  more  boldness,  as  he 
heard  a  step  on  the  stairs.  "No,  what  Oi  really 
mint,  mavourneen,  is — there."  And  he  pointed 
dramatically  and  triumphantly  to  the  open  door. 

In  it  stood  John  Brandon,  in  civilian  dress 
again,  looking  taller  and  more  graceful  than 
ever  before.  Constance's  blood  began  to  dance 
in  her  veins,  and  she  knew  that  her  cheeks  were 
betraying  her  emotion.  Withal,  she  was  very 
happy  as  she  realized  that  here  at  last,  in  the 
clear  morning  sunshine,  misunderstanding  would 
vanish  and  the  truth  make  them  glaa.  She 
smiled,  and  held  out  her  hand.  Brandon 
walked  slowly  forward,  and  gravely  took  the 
dimpled  fingers  and  raised  them  to  his  lips. 

MacAlpine,  his  honest  soul  filled  with  delight, 
beamed  upon  the  pair  for  a  moment,  then,  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  and  something  in  the 
way  of  an  excuse,  betook  himself  down  the  stairs 
with  a  great  clatter,  and  out  of  the  street  door, 
which  he  banged  vigorously,  to  prove  conclu- 
sively that  he  had  left  the  building. 

Constance's  amusement  at  this  transparent 
subterfuge  danced  from  her  laughing  eyes. 

"Isn't  he  good?"  she  exclaimed. 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  Dan,  of  course."  "  Stupid ! "  she  whis- 
pered to  herself. 

Brandon  did  not  smile  as  he  replied:  "Yes, 
very  good.  He  is  harboring  me  here  at  danger 

[336] 


"SPEAK  OF  HIM  NO  MORE" 

to  himself.  I  fancy  that  none  other  in  the  town 
would  do  it.  Most  prefer  to  entertain  British 
officers." 

"He  is  really  gone,"  said  the  girl  brightly, 
and  not  without  a  certain  feminine  challenge, 
as  she  looked  from  the  window. 

"Methinks  he  should  be,"  replied  Brandon 
drily,  "after  so  much  sign  of  it." 

Still  his  face  was  as  grave  as  before,  and  he 
moved  no  nearer  Mistress  Drake.  But  she, 
filled  with  a  tenderness  so  new  that  it  was  almost 
a  pain,  laid  her  hand  gently  upon  his  arm.  He 
neither  shrank  from  the  touch,  nor  courted  it. 

** I  — -I  have  missed  you  much,  John,"  she 
said  wistfully.  And  if  ever  a  besotted  man 
should  have  seen  his  heart's  desire  in  a  woman's 
eyes,  John  Brandon  ought  to  have  beheld  just  that. 

"One  would  scarce  have  thought  you  would 
have  had  time  for  that,  Mistress  Drake,"  he 
said,  with  a  mirthless  smile. 

"How  mean  you?"  she  asked  quickly,  some 
of  the  beautiful  light  fading  from  her  eyes. 

"I  mean  that  with  a  British  officer  in  your 
house  and  Tory  routs  outside  it,  you  could 
hardly  have  leisure  for  much  thought  of  a  humble 
soldier  in  the  American  army,"  he  said  bitterly. 

Piqued,  but  still  willing  to  save  the  situation, 
even  at  the  expense  of  her  pride,  Constance 
laughed  gaily. 

*  John,  John,"  she  cried,  "you're  surely  not 
so  foolish  as  to  think  that  I  have  any  room  in 
my  heart  for  Tories  or  English  officers  or  any 
otner  than  —  you  must  know  — " 

[3371 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"I  know  this,"  he  broke  in  with  sudden  heat, 
"that  I  saw  you  in  his  arms  on  the  night  of  the 
masque.  Strange,  that  your  heart  and  body 
should  be  so  at  variance!" 

"Ah,  as  I  thought,"  she  exclaimed,  smiling 
again  at  this  verification  of  her  reasoning;  glad 
that  a  few  words  would  now  clear  away  every 
storm-cloud. 

"As  you  thought,"  he  echoed  scornfully,  his 
dark  eyes  blazing,  "  as  you  thought,  so  you  acted. 
Oh,  'twas  nothing  new  for  you,  I  warrant.  Have 
you  not  tended  that  fellow  for  months  in  your 
own  home?  Have  you  not  mingled  with  the 
enemies  of  our  country  —  eaten  with  them, 
laughed  with  them,  prayed  with  them,  most 
like?" 

The  girl's  cheeks  flushed  and  her  mouth 
hardened.  This,  then,  was  the  reward  for  un- 
maidenly  advances,  this  the  end  of  the  dream 
that  had  been  in  her  heart.  She  straightened 
proudly  and  looked  Brandon  full  in  me  eye. 
And  he,  stubborn  and  resentful,  gave  back  the 
gaze  without  a  tremor. 

"  Methinks  you  have  a  short  memory,  Master 
John  Brandon,"  said  Constance  coldly.  "Have 
my  messages,  then,  been  of  no  use?  Are  my 
services  to  the  cause  to  be  flouted  because,  for- 
sooth, you  are  in  an  ill-temper?" 

"I  am  in  no  ill-temper,  Constance,"  he  re- 
turned doggedly,  "nor  am  I  disposed  to  deny 
the  value  of  your  messages.  But  your  life  here 
has  given  the  lie  to  your  professions,  and  if  you 
are  not  a  traitor,  you  are  at  least  — " 

[388] 


"SPEAK  OF  HIM  NO  MORE" 

"I  am  no  traitor,  John  Brandon,  and  that 
you  know,"  she  exclaimed,  her  breast  heaving 
and  her  words  pouring  forth  in  a  hot  torrent 
that  seemed,  later,  to  have  seared  her  very 
tongue.  "For  months  I  have  had  no  thought 
but  for  the  success  of  our  common  cause.  I 
have  played  the  eavesdropper,  made  myself  a 
spy,  placed  myself  and  my  good  old  uncle  in 
peril.  And  for  what  ?  To  have  you,  you  of  all 
men,  stand  up  and  put  me  to  shame!  Do  I 
deserve  it,  John  Brandon?" 

"I  saw  you  in  his  arms,"  returned  the  young 
soldier,  gravely,  hopelessly. 

"  So  ?     What  if  I  could  explain  — 

"There  is  no  explanation.  I  saw  you  in  his 
arms.  .  .  .  Ah,  yes,"  he  cried  angrily,  "I  see 
what  you  would  say.  You  were  so  eager  for 
news  to  send  to  the  Americans,  that  you  must 
needs  let  a  British  officer  embrace  you  in  your 
role  of  spy.  Excellent,  indeed,  but  scarcely 
sufficient.  You  - 

The  girl's  cheeks  turned  from  scarlet  to  the 
color  of  ashes,  with  just  two  tiny  spots  of  flame 
in  the  center.  Her  voice  became  passionless, 
icy,  and  what  she  said  came  like  frozen  rain. 

'You  need  give  yourself  no  trouble,  Master 
Brandon,  to  imagine  my  defense.  I  need  none, 
and  if  I  did,  you  should  not  now  have  it.  You 
do  me  the  honor  to  prejudge  me,  to  disbelieve 
me,  to  discredit  my  faith.  You  shall  not  repeat 
that,  sir,  for  from  this  time  — ' 

"I  understand,  Mistress  Drake,"  he  inter- 
rupted, bowing  stiffly.  '  'Twere  better  for  both, 

[339] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

methinks;  I  to  my  camp  and  my  sword,  you  to 
your  gaiety  and  your  cavalier.  I  wish  you  hap- 
piness and  bid  you  good-by." 

"Good-by,"  returned  the  girl  proudly.  What- 
ever she  felt,  he  should  not  see.  She  was  a  sol- 
dier's daughter,  and  there,  still  hanging  over 
the  cedar  chest,  was  her  father's  uniform  bidding 
her  be  strong. 

So  she  watched  the  man,  whose  coming  had 
so  gladdened  her  heart,  walk  to  the  door  and 
pass  through,  and  heard  his  measured  tread 
down  the  stairs  with  no  visible  signs  of  emotion. 
Only  the  quivering  strength  of  the  clasping  of 
her  hands  behind  her  back  expressed  the  re- 
sentment of  her  outraged  pride,  of  her  flouted 
and  despised  efforts  toward  the  peace  of  love. 
Thus  she  stood  for  many  minutes,  staring  into 
space,  saying  nothing,  even  to  her  own  mentality; 
a  beautiful  statue  transformed  by  a  man's  scorn. 

She  was  aroused  at  last  by  the  loud  stamping 
up  the  stairs  of  MacAlpine,  who  had  resolved 
to  give  the  lovers  fair  warning  and  catch  them 
in  no  embarrassing  demeanor.  He  looked  his 
astonishment  at  finding  the  girl  alone. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  you  to  take  me  home,"  said 
Constance.  "I  sent  Pompey  on  an  errand  be- 
fore I  came  up." 

The  even,  colorless,  far-away  tones  of  her 
voice  struck  the  faithful  old  fellow  with  appre- 
hension. He  had  known  her  in  almost  every 
mood,  but  never  like  this. 

"Where's  —  where's  Major  Brandon?"  he 
stammered. 

[840] 


"SPEAK  OF  HIM  NO  MORE" 

At  the  name  all  the  hot  blood  rushed  back  to 
Mistress  Drake's  cheeks;  her  figure  became 
animated  with  passion  that,  pent  up  so  long, 
now  rushed  to  her  brain  and  made  a  furious, 
raging  goddess  of  her.  Years  after  old  Dan 
remembered  that  in  all  his  life  he  had  never 
seen  so  superbly  handsome  a  creature  as  this 
young  woman  pouring  out  her  resentment  in 
nis  sunny  fencing-loft. 

"Where  is  Master  Brandon?**  she  echoed. 
" Nay,  he  was  here  but  a  moment  ago;  but  where 
he  now  is,  or  whither  he  goes,  is  no  concern  of 
mine,  nor  ever  will  be.  Speak  of  him  no  more, 
if  you  love  me,  Dan.  I  shall  have  other  things 
to  think  of  now.  .  .  .  What  is't  they  call  me  — 
the  officers,  I  mean?** 

"  Sure,  Oi  think  *tis  *  My  Lady  Laughter,*  Miss 
Constance,**  replied  the  nonplussed  old  soldier, 
"but—** 

"But  me  no  buts,  Dan,"  cried  the  girl,  with 
almost  savage  gaiety,  "*tis  a  monstrous  pretty 
name,  and  pleases  me  well.  And  if  they  call 
me  that,  why  that  I  must  be.  I  will  be  *My 
Lady  Laughter*  in  sooth,  Dan,  from  this  time 
on.  So  long  life  to  her  ladyship !" 


[S41J 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 
Aunt  Tabitha's  Chiding 

"TT  TELL,  wife,  February  adds  to  its  reputa- 

W   tion  this  year." 

Thus  Giles  Romney  to  Tabitha  as  they  sat  in 
the  breakfast-room  after  the  morning  meal,  and 
gazed  out  into  a  stormy  day.  A  northeast  gale 
was  howling  over  the  roof-tops  of  Boston,  bring- 
ing with  it  great,  slanting  curtains  of  snow  and 
sleet  that  nearly  hid  from  view  Lord  Percy's 
house  on  the  west.  Nature  was  sullen  and  dark, 
and  only  the  bright  fire  on  the  hearth  —  for 
Romney's  money  was  still  able  to  procure  fuel 
—  helped  to  warm  the  hearts  of  the  old  people. 

Tabitha  nodded  assent  to  her  lord's  indict- 
ment of  the  weather. 

"The  month  is  half  gone,  and  winter's  nearly 
over,"  she  observed. 

"And  such  a  winter!  The  past  twelvemonth 
has  seemed  like  as  many  years.  How  will  it 
end,  wife,  how  will  it  end  ?  ' 

"As  Providence  ordains,  Giles.  I  know  not. 
I  am  but  a  woman,"  said  Tabitha,  demurely. 

"" 


Woman!"    exclaimed  Giles,  with  a  snort, 
d  so  is  Howe  a  woman,  or  his  troops  would 
e  sallied  forth  ere  this." 
For  what?"  was  the  gentle  query. 


AUNT  TABITHA'S  CHIDING 

'To  be  defeated,  sponged  out  —  scattered!" 

The  good  lady  smiled  at  her  crochet-work, 
her  confidant  in  so  many  of  these  little  dialogues 
with  her  peppery  husband.  "Then  is  it  not 
lucky  he  is  a  woman?"  she  asked. 

"For  him,  maybe,  but  not  for  those  cooped 
up  here  against  their  will." 

"  My  dear,"  mildly  protested  Tabitha,  smooth- 
ing her  gown  complacently,  "I'm  sure  we're 
very  comfortable  since  the  store-ships  came  with 
supplies.  I  should  be  very  content  if — "  The 
calm  voice  died  away,  ana  into  the  placid  eyes 
came  a  look  as  of  some  far-off  vision.  The  old 
man  glanced  at  her  with  quick  scrutiny,  for  it 
was  not  often  that  she  left  any  "if"  unfulfilled. 

"If  what,  wife?"  he  asked.  .  .  .  "Something 
has  troubled  you  of  late.  What  is  it  ?" 

Tabitha's  fresh  pink  cheeks  deepened  a  little 
in  color,  as  she  dropped  her  work,  and  clasped 
her  delicate  hands  in  ner  lap. 

"I  had  thought  not  to  trouble  you,  dear,"  she 
began,  "  but  perhaps  'tis  best  we  should  consult 
together.  .  .  .  'Tis  of  Constance  I  worry." 

'Of  Constance?  Why,  pray,  of  her?"  was 
the  surprised  question. 

"She  is  so  strange,  so  distraught  of  late." 

The  sense  of  the  superior  masculine  asserted 
itself  strongly  in  old  Giles.  He  laughed  almost 
contemptuously  and  spoke  with  loud  and  hearty 
assurance.  If  this  were  all,  he  would  soon  set 
the  matter  right. 

"Strange?  Distraught?"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Whatever  put  that  into  your  head  ?  Why,  for 

[343] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 
the  past  month  she  has  been  the  gayest  of  the 


'Yes,  that  is  it,"  assented  Tabitha  calmly. 

"  You  worry  because  she  is  gay  ?  You  women 
pass  all  reasoning." 

"We  pass  men's  reasoning,  perhaps,"  with  a 
significance  that  scarcely  mended  things. 

"Umph!"  growled  Giles.  "Then  pray  en- 
lighten me.  Connie  is  as  merry  as  a  lark,  and 
you  call  her  strange,  distraught.  ' 

"Yes,  because  her  gaiety  is  unreal." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!  The  girl's  happy 
enough,  I'll  swear,  except  for  wishing  an  end  of 
the  siege." 

"Tis  not  war  or  politics,  Giles,  that's  eating 
her  heart  out,"  replied  Tabitha,  with  something 
like  real  fire  flashing  from  her  blue  eyes.  She 
would  be  flouted  so  far,  would  Mistress  Romney, 
and  then  let  mankind  beware. 

"Eating  her  heart  out!  Stuff,  wife,  stuff! 
She  could  never  deceive  me." 

And  with  that  announcement,  made  in  a  tone 
that  admitted  of  no  further  controversy,  the  old 
man  hobbled  off  to  his  library  in  high  dudgeon, 
to  seek  oblivion  from  all  the  ills  of  home  and  the 
times  in  "Tristram  Shandy,"  which  had  come 
in  from  England  by  the  latest  packet. 

Tabitha  gazed  into  the  glowing  fire  thought- 
fully for  several  minutes  after  he  nad  gone.  At 
last  a  great  resolution  took  form  in  ner  gentle 
breast. 

"I'll  speak  to  the  girl  to-day,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "Tis  my  duty." 

[Mft] 


AUNT  TABITHA'S  CHIDING 

But  no  immediate  opportunity  for  the  sound- 
ing of  Constance's  heart  presented  itself,  for 
the  girl  and  Barbara  were  aeep  in  the  mysteries 
of  remodeling  a  gown.  From  the  next  room 
came  to  Tabitha's  keen  ears  the  chatter  and 
laughter  of  the  two,  in  which  Constance  had  by 
far  the  larger  share.  The  wise  old  woman  shook 
her  head  slowly. 

"The  mirth  does  not  ring  true,*'  she  mur- 
mured. 

Anon  the  door  opened,  and  Constance  came 
into  the  room  in  search  of  a  needle-case,  but  did 
not  see  her  aunt.  As  she  returned  she  left  the 
door  ajar,  so  that  Tabitha  could  hear  plainly 
the  girls'  talk. 

"There,  Bab,"  said  her  niece,  "just  a  little 
higher  in  this  shoulder  and  the  bow  there.  .  .  . 
Yes,  that's  it.  ...  Now,  how  do  I  look  ?  Shall 
I  pass  muster?" 

"I'm  sure  you'll  be  the  —  the— "  There 
came  the  sound  of  a  sob,  and  the  closing  of  an- 
other door.  Then  Constance's  voice  again: 

"Bab!  Crying?  She's  gone.  Well,  I—" 
After  that  a  long  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
ticking  of  the  quaint  old  clock  on  the  mantel 
of  the  breakfast-room,  and  the  feeble,  disheart- 
ened chirp  of  the  canary. 

After  a  little,  Tabitha,  with  a  rather  unusual 
look  of  firmness  around  her  mouth,  rose  and 
went  to  the  next  room.  There  sat  Constance, 
crouched  on  a  low  stool  before  a  window,  her 
face  in  her  palms,  gazing  out  into  the  storm. 
With  her  unfinished  fineries  upon  her,  she  looked 

[3451 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

a  strange  contradiction  of  gaiety  and  gloom, 
typical,  thought  her  aunt,  of  her  present  state 
of  mind. 

"  Constance,'*  said  the  old  woman,  gently. 

With  an  impulsive  gesture,  half  of  surprise, 
half  of  pride,  the  girl  raised  her  head  and  looked 
around.  She  smiled,  but  the  result  was  as  feeble 
as  if  the  sun  were  to  try  to  shine  through  the 
clouds  of  the  northeast  gale. 

" Oh,  'tis  you,  Aunt  Tabitha,"  she  said.  "'Tis 
a  dreary  day." 

"You  were  not  wont  to  care  for  weather, 
Connie." 

"No  more  do  I  —  save  when  it  is  likely  to 
prevent  callers." 

"A  caller,  I  fancy  you  mean,"  replied  the  aunt, 
with  unmistakable  significance.  Constance  gave 
her  one  swift  scrutiny,  then  rose  to  unpin  the 
satin  girdle  of  her  uncompleted  gown.  But  she 
spoke  no  word. 

"  Lieutenant  Charlton  comes  here  very  often, 
Constance,"  resumed  Tabitha. 

"  Does  he  ?  We  should  all  feel  complimented." 
This  with  a  fine  air  of  indifference. 

"  Not  all  exactly.  But  you  —  Constance,  I've 
not  been  much  of  a  mother  to  you,  but  I'm  all 
you've  had." 

"Ah,  yes,"  cried  the  girl,  melting  to  tender- 
ness in  an  instant,  and  kissing  her  aunt  heartily. 
'You  have  been  all  that  is  kind  and  good,  and 
I  shall  not  forget  it." 

"Well,"  went  on  the  old  woman,  touched 
and  pleased  by  this  evidence  of  affection,  "I 

[846] 


AUNT  TABITHA'S  CHIDING 

don't  like  the  role  of  meddler,  but  do  you  think 
you  are  treating  this  young  man  quite  fairly  ?" 

"Lieutenant  Charlton?"  asked  Constance, 
though  she  knew  the  name  was  not  needed. 

Tabitha  nodded  gravely. 

"Shall  I  not  be  civil ?'' 

"Does  civility  demand  that  he  should  be  en- 
couraged into  such  a  frequent  visitor?"  went  on 
the  old  woman,  relentlessly. 

"I'm  sure  he  is  our  friend,  though  an  enemy 
—  and  —  and  —  really  I  must  see  some  one, 
and  he  was  of  our  household  so  long." 

Tabitha  paused  for  a  moment  for  strategical 
purposes.  What  if,  after  all,  the  girl  cared  for 
the  English  officer,  a  true  gentleman,  if  ever 
there  was  one  ? 

"Is  it  not  possible,"  she  resumed,  "that  you 
may  lead  him  to  believe,  to  hope  that  he  may 
one  day  be  —  more  than  friend  to  you  ?" 

"I  had  no  such  meaning,"  exclaimed  Con- 
stance, flushing  proudly,  "  but  what  if  he  does  ? 
Why  should  he  not?" 

"Why  not,  indeed,"  was  the  calm  reply,  "if 
you  are  heart  free,  Constance."  And  she  looked 
into  the  girl's  clear  eyes  as  if  they  were  the  well- 
springs  of  truth  in  which  all  doubt  should  be 
cleared  away.  What  she  saw  there  told  her 
that  her  words  had  gone  home. 

"Heart  free?"  repeated  Constance,  with  a 
bitter  little  laugh.  "  Have  I  a  heart,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"A  very  large  and  warm  one,  I  should  say. 
Come,  come,  Connie  dear,  I'm  an  old  woman 

[847] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

who  loves  you  very  much,  and  your  sorrows  are 
my  sorrows." 

The  girl  whirled  about,  shaking  the  pink  folds 
of  her  satin  gown  to  the  floor,  in  a  billowy  mass. 
Standing  revealed,  fair  and  white  and  dainty, 
she  mignt  have  looked  like  some  refined  goddess 
of  mirth  to  other  eyes  than  her  aunt's. 

"Sorrows,  aunt?"  she  cried  blithely.  "/ 
have  sorrows  ?  Am  I  not  the  synonym  of  gaiety 
in  this  luckless  town  ?  What  have  I  and  sorrow 
in  common?"  Then,  at  sight  of  Tabitha's  look 
of  pain,  her  tone  changed.  "Oh,  I  know  you 
love  me  and  mean  but  for  the  best.  I  am  — 
well,  not  all  I  seem.  But  'tis  my  own  grief, 
dearest,  I  must  fight  it  down  alone.  Besides, 
'tis  really  of  no  deeper  growth  than  a  silly  girl's 
regrets.  As  for  Lieutenant  Charlton  —  well, 
that  is  for  the  future." 

"He  loves  you,  Constance,"  said  her  aunt, 
with  gentle  solemnity. 

"Tnis  is  the  second  time  I've  heard  that  said," 
replied  the  girl. 

"He  has  - 

"Nay.  Another  was  free  to  say  for  him  what 
you  have  said." 

With  the  words  there  unrolled  before  her 
vision  the  blood-stained  picture  of  that  day  of 
intensity  in  the  farmhouse  on  the  road  to  Lexing- 
ton, when  Brandon,  by  some  intuition  of  a  dis- 
ordered brain,  had  penetrated  to  the  secret  of 
the  gallant  and  chivalrous  young  officer,  who, 
she  dared  not  deny  to  herself,  loved  her  well. 

After  her  aunt  had  left  her  with  kindly  words 

[348] 


AUNT  TABITHA'S  CHIDING 

of  encouragement  and  sympathy,  she  sat  down 
upon  the  stool  again,  and  looked  into  the  riot  of 
snow  and  wind  as  if  trying  to  pierce  through 
that  murky  veil  to  her  own  future.  Alas,  was  it 
not  as  full  of  gloom  and  depression  as  the  storm 
itself? 

She  could  see  nothing  clearly  except  that  scene 
in  MacAlpine's  loft,  and  her  heart  glowed  again 
with  anger  and  resentment.  That  John  Bran- 
don had  doubted  her  faith,  her  honor,  even  her 
truth,  was  unforgivable.  Oh,  if  she  could  re- 
member only  that  he  had  been  in  a  jealous  rage, 
how  sweet  it  would  be.  But  that  other  spectre, 
that  ghost  of  distrust  that  had  arisen,  would 
persist  in  thrusting  its  hideous  shape  into  her 
day-dream  to  make  life  itself  almost  a  mockery. 

As  she  sat  thus  eating  her  heart  out,  she  was 
startled  by  the  pressure  of  something  moist  and 
cold  against  her  cheek.  It  was  the  muzzle  of 
Queue,  the  dog  once  owned  by  Samuel  Adams, 
but  now  a  faitnful  satellite  of  the  girl  since  she 
had  taken  pity  upon  his  vagrant  desolation  and 
brought  him  nome  to  peace  and  plenty.  Now 
his  brown  eyes  looked  into  hers  with  that  amaz- 
ing sympathy  dumb  creatures  know,  and  his 
feathery  tail  waved  his  devotion.  She  threw 
her  arms  around  his  neck  and  hugged  him 
warmly. 

"Oh,  Queue,  good  old  Queue,"  she  mur- 
mured, "you  understand  me,  don't  you?" 

For  answer  Queue  put  one  paw  gravely  upon 
his  mistress's  shoulder,  and  just  touched  her 
cheek  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 

[349] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"You  know  the  truth,  Queue,"  she  went  on, 
"but  do  I  know  it  myself,  old  doggie?  At  all 
events,  I  know  more  than  'tis  kina  to  let  Aunt 
Tabitha  know." 

Queue  pricked  up  his  ears  and  turned  his 
head  to  one  side. 

"But  I  must  go  to  this  ball,  Queue,  and  with 
Lieutenant  Charlton,  because  I've  promised. 
And  'twill  be  distraction,  too." 

A  little  gruff  pretence  at  a  bark  told  the  girl 
that  the  dog  appreciated  the  situation. 

"And  he  may  know,  but  without  caring.  Be- 
sides, am  I  not  the  gayest  Tory  of  them  all,  and 
must  I  not  keep  it  up  ?" 

Queue  gave  a  reluctant  assent  with  a  mournful 
whine  that  was  more  than  his  mistress's  nervous 
tension  could  endure.  Again  she  threw  her 
arms  around  his  shaggy  neck  and  buried  her 
face  upon  his  shoulder.  And  if  he  were  sur- 
prised at  the  tears  that  moistened  his  hair,  he 
gave  no  sign,  but  stood 'there  loyally  until  the 
storm  had  passed. 


[850] 


i 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
Mac  Alpine  is  Won  Over 

N   a  small  hut  before  the  headquarters  of 

Washington  at  Cambridge,  a  tight  little  cabin 
warmed  against  the  clear  cold  of  a  February 
afternoon  by  a  good  fire  in  a  stone  fireplace,  two 
soldiers  of  the  off-duty  detail  of  the  guard  were 
making  themselves  comfortable  and  discussing 
the  progress  of  the  campaign.  One  was  in  the 
full  possession  of  his  conversational  powers,  for 
he  was  Jonathan  Thomas,  the  barber,  at  the 
moment  occupied  in  shaving  his  old  neighbor 
and  present  fellow-soldier,  Francis  Johonnot, 
the  tailor.  The  latter  spoke  whenever  the 
lather  was  sufficiently  cleared  away  from  his 
mouth  by  Thomas's  generous  brush,  and  when 
occasion  thus  offered  he  generally  had  some- 
thing definite  to  offer.  At  last,  Jonathan  plunged 
his  brush  into  the  shaving  mug,  and  began  to 
strop  his  razor  lazily. 

"  Soldiering' s  not  the  exciting  thing  I  used  ter 
think,  Johonnot,"  said  he  with  a  yawn. 

"No?"  spluttered  his  friend.  "I  suppose 
you  thought  all  an  army  had  to  do  was  to  shoot. 
It  has  to  get  ready.  Oosh,  oosh!  Wipe  that 
soap  off  my  mouth." 

[851] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"We're  always  getting  ready,"  growled  the 
barber,  heedless  of  the  request. 

"  Don't  fret.  There'll  be  enough  to  do  soon, 
I'll  warrant." 

Thomas  flourished  his  blade  perilously  near 
the  right  ear  of  his  victim,  and  began  to  scrape 
away  on  the  stubbly  cheek. 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  he  asked  quiz- 
zically. 

"Any  fool  might  know  it,"  mumbled  Jo- 
honnot. 

"  Oh,  I  see  why  now,"  was  the  sarcastic  reply. 

The  tailor  soldier  suddenly  sat  upright  in  his 
chair,  to  the  imminent  danger  of  his  nose,  and 
waved  the  other  away  majestically.  The  handi- 
cap of  lather  and  razor  united  was  more  than 
his  sense  of  fair  play  could  endure. 

"If  you  kept  your  sleepy  eyes  open,"  he  de- 
claimed majestically,  "you'd  know  something 
was  on  foot  since  Colonel  Knox  hauled  the  can- 
non and  mortars  from  Crown  Point  and  Ticon- 
deroga.  And  powder  is  plentiful,  too." 

Then  he  lay  back  supinely  and  permitted  the 
shaving  to  proceed. 

The  operation  was  nearly  finished  when  Toby 
Gookin  came  ducking  tnrough  the  door  in 
search  of  recreation  during  a  half-hour's  wait 
for  Brandon,  who  was  in  the  Vassall  House  with 
Washington.  To  him  Thomas  turned  for  in- 
formation that  might  demolish  his  comrade's 
theories.  The  two  were  stanch  and  loyal 
friends,  had  fought  side  by  side  at  Bunker  Hill, 
and  shared  each  other's  troubles  in  all  ways; 

[35*1 


MACALPINE  IS  WON  OVER 

but  they  were  as  argumentative  as  a  couple  of 
Puritan  parsons,  and  delighted  to  defeat  one 
another  in  the  war  of  words. 

"Johonnot  says,"  appealed  the  barber,  "the 
army  is  to  do  something  at  last,  Toby.  You 
must  know,  for  you're  orderly  to  an  officer." 

"Major  Brandon  keeps  his  own  caounsel," 
replied  the  giant  calmly.  "But  everyone  may 
judge  for  himself." 

"Not  everyone"  chirped  Johonnot,  with  an 
expressive  grin  at  Thomas. 

Well,"  drawled  Thomas,  wiping  his  razor 
and  putting  it  back  in  its  case,  "lor  all  we  do,  I 
might  as  well  be  shaving  as  soldiering." 

Johonnot  rose  from  his  chair,  and  wiped  his 
flaming  face  with  a  red  bandanna.  He  now 
felt  like  a  true  soldier. 

"There'll  be  fighting  soon,"  he  declared, 
martially,  "else  why  these  bales  of  hay  and 
bandages  and  bateaux?" 

"It  may  be  as  yew  say,"  assented  Toby. 

"Major  Brandon  is  well?"  asked  Thomas. 

"Yes." 

"Didn't  I  see  him  pass  the  window  just  be- 
fore you  came  in?" 

"  If  yew  were  lookin'  out  yew  may  have.  He 
is  at  headquarters." 

While  this  little  comedy  was  being  enacted, 
a  far  different  scene  was  tnat  in  the  fine  council- 
room  of  the  mansion.  Several  officers  in  un- 
dress uniform  were  gathered  about  a  long  table, 
at  the  head  of  which  sat  Washington,  grave, 
unemotional,  deliberate  as  ever.  At  the  op- 

[353] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

posite  end  was  Major  John  Brandon,  a  little 
pile  of  papers  neatly  stacked  before  him,  and 
nis  dark,  inquiring  eyes  fixed  on  the  commander- 
in-chief. 

"Yes,  Major  Brandon,"  said  Washington, 
"  we  shall  fortify  Dorchester  Heights  as  soon  as 
preparations  can  possibly  be  completed.  The 
design  is  known  only  to  a  half  dozen  officers. 
The  necessity  that  it  remain  a  profound  secret 
is  evident." 

Brandon  nodded,  as  if  to  assure  the  General 
that  that  point  was  fully  understood. 

"  As  a  part  of  the  plan  it  is  a  necessity  that  we 
keep  posted  as  to  the  slightest  movement  in 
Howe  s  army." 

"As  I  have  already  said,  General,"  was  the 
firm  reply,  "I  will  try  and  make  my  way  into 
town  and  will  do  my  best." 

'You  recognize,  sir,  that  discovery  means 
death?"  asked  Washington,  his  deep  voice 
taking  on  an  added  touch  of  solemnity. 

"I  do,  sir,"  replied  Brandon,  looking  straight 
at  the  commander.  "I  have  run  the  risk  be- 
fore, and  for  a  less  vital  object." 

"  You  will  make  the  attempt  to  enter  town  — 
when?" 

"Just  before  light  to-morrow,  sir." 

"To-morrow?  Let's  see,"  mused  Washing- 
tion.  '  Yes,  'tis  the  22d  —  my  birth  anniver- 
sary. Well,  good  fortune  favor  you.  General 
Lee  will  arrange  the  details." 

With  that,  the  conference  was  broken  up,  and 
the  stalwart  form  of  the  chief  moved  with  simple 


MACALPINE  IS  WON  OVER 

majesty  from  the  room.  Lee  and  Brandon  re- 
mained to  arrange  for  a  means  of  communica- 
tion should  the  major  find  himself  unable  to 
quit  the  town  after  once  entering  it.  That  mat- 
ter apparently  settled,  he  returned  to  his  quar- 
ters with  his  giant  orderly.  Having  spent  an 
hour  writing  some  letters,  he  handed  them  as  a 
sacred  trust  to  Gookin. 

"I'm  going  to  town  to-night,  Toby,"  he  said, 
with  a  half-pathetic  smile,  '  and  somehow  I  feel 
that  I  shall  tail  this  time." 

"Don't,  sir,  don't,"  pleaded  the  orderly,  his 
hand  trembling  in  a  very  unsoldierly  manner, 
as  he  took  the  packet.  "I  don't  believe  — " 

"  It  may  be  all  nonsense,  but  it  is  dangerous, 
you  know." 

"  Wouldn't  I  dew,  sir  ?"  urged  the  good  fellow. 
"Not  as  well,  of  course,  —  but  then  I'm  not 
wuth  as  much  as  yew." 

Brandon  seized  Toby's  huge  paw,  and  wrung 
it  warmly.  What  were  military  rank  and  dis- 
cipline at  such  a  time  as  this  ?  Two  men's  hearts 
were  speaking  to  one  another  in  the  universal 
language  of  affection. 

"Pshaw,  Toby!"  said  the  officer;  "you've 
done  more  for  the  cause  than  I  ever  dream  to  do. 
You  wouldn't  rob  me  of  my  chance?  Don't 
bother  about  what  I  say.  Doubtless  I'll  get  in 
and  out  as  usual.  I'm  a  bit  unstrung  to-night, 
that's  all." 

Two  hours  later  Brandon  and  his  tall  shadow 
rode  away  toward  Boston  Neck  in  the  oncoming 
darkness.  At  the  last  American  outpost,  in 

[355] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

sound  of  the  bugles  of  the  British  fortifications, 
the  riders  dismounted.  There  Brandon  put  his 
hand  upon  Gookin's  shoulder,  gently  pressing 
him  back. 

"Can't  I  go  too,  sir?"  begged  Toby,  pite- 
ously,  his  eyes  filling. 

"  Two  of  us  ?  "  laughed  Brandon.  '  'Twould 
be  certain  discovery.  Besides,  I  want  a  faithful 
friend  —  outside.  Now,  good-night.  Remem- 
ber what  I  have  told  you.  ' 

"Good-night  and  good  luck,"  said  Gookin, 
and  the  great,  honest-hearted  man  strained  his 
eyes  to  follow  the  departing  figure  until  it  at 
last  melted  into  the  night  and  was  seen  no  more. 


Daylight  was  brushing  its  stealthy  way  into 
Dan  MacAlpine's  plain  little  chamber  when  the 
fencing-master  was  aroused  by  an  odd  tapping 
at  the  lower  door  of  his  armory.  Alert  in  an 
instant,  for  the  times  had  taught  him  much,  he 
hurried  downstairs  and  cautiously  opened  the 
door.  There  he  saw  John  Brandon  in  civilian 
dress,  leaning  unsteadily  against  the  lintel,  hag- 
gard and  dishevelled,  half-overcome  by  sleep. 

"A  bed,  Dan,  that's  a  good  fellow,  was  his 
salutation.  "And  don't  wake  me  if  I  sleep  till 
night." 

Indeed,  it  seemed  to  the  solicitous  MacAlpine 
that  his  friend  might  remain  in  bed  indefinitely, 
for  there  was  no  sound  from  the  little  room  all 
through  the  morning  and  afternoon  hours.  But 
just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  Major  Brandon  ap- 

[356] 


MACALPINE  IS  WON  OVER 

peared  in  the  loft,  where  old  Dan,  who  had  been 
the  prey  to  one  of  his  "onaisy"  moods  all  day, 
and  had  taken  out  the  uniform  of  his  beloved 
Captain  Terence  for  another  inspection,  was 
just  folding  up  the  red  coat  preparatory  to  put- 
ting it  back  in  its  cedar  chest. 

Well,  Dan,"  said  his  visitor  merrily,  "I 
must  seem  a  churlish  guest,  but  I  was  almost 
dead  beat.  The  sentries  were  unusually  active, 
and  'twas  hard  work." 

"  It  musht  'a'  been,  sorr,  accordin*  to  yer  looks 
this  mornin',"  replied  the  old  soldier  drily. 
"  But  what  ye're  chafely  in  nade  of  at  this  prisint 
blissid  moment  is  rations.  Come  downshtairs 
an'  we'll  have  a  bite  togither." 

As  Brandon  ate  after  the  manner  of  a  hungry 
mortal,  he  plied  his  happy  host  with  so  many 
questions  that  consecutive  answers  were  impos- 
sible. He  must  know  of  his  father  and  sister, 
of  the  Romneys  —  but  not  specifically  of  a  cer- 
tain lady  who  dwelt  with  them,  which  omission 
Dan  noted  as  "  quare"  -  and  of  the  movements 
of  the  British  troops.  But  all  that  Mac  Alpine 
could  say  about  the  latter  was  that  they  seemed 
to  be  as  inactive  as  an  army  of  sloths,  despite 
the  arrival  on  the  previous  day  of  two  transports 
laden  with  soldiers. 

"Gin'ral  Howe  is  a  great  mon  for  show, 
though,"  added  the  Irishman,  with  a  laugh. 
"The  min  musht  have  their  hair  shmooth,  and 
bedad,  they  pay  more  attintion  to  the  powther 
on  their  hair  than  in  their  magazines." 

[357] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"You  don't  think,  then,  that  they  intend  any 
offensive  operations?" 

"Offinsive,  is  it?  Nothin'  more  offinsive 
than  to  pull  down  Pathriots'  houses  for  firewood 
and  use  churches  for  shtables.  Oi'll  wager  Gin- 
'ral  Howe  niver  goes  to  bed  at  noight  without 
thankin'  his  lucky  shtars  that  the  Yankees  are 
contint  with  kapin'  him  in  instead  of  thryin'  to 
droive  him  out.' 

'Yet  repeated  warning  has  reached  Cam- 
bridge that  the  British  intend  a  demonstration," 
persisted  Brandon  thoughtfully. 

"Avwhatkoind?" 

"  That's  what  I'm  here  to  try  and  find  out." 

"Aha!"  cried  MacAlpine,  with  a  long  whistle, 
expressive  of  many  things  unsaid.  "The  divil 
ye  are.  .  . .  Will  yez  have  some  more  o'  the  broth, 
sorr?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  Dan.  Now,  that  it  is  dark, 
I  must  get  out  and  —  well,  observe,  Dan." 

"  Obsarve,  is  it  ?  Be  obsarved,  more  loikely. 
There's  many  ridcoats  about  to-noight,  sorr." 

"Why  to-night?"  asked  Brandon,  pricking 
up  his  ears. 

'There's  a  big  orfficers'  ball  at  the  Province 
House  to-nteht,  sorr.  The  Queen's  ball." 

"If  I  could  go  to  that  ball,"  muttered  Bran- 
don, under  his  breath. 

'Twill  be  a  great  affair,  'tis  said." 

"  If  I  could  only  be  there,  Dan." 

'You,  sorr?"  was  the  amazed  query. 

'The  officers  will  be  in  liquor  and  loose- 
tongued." 

[358] 


MACALPINE  IS  WON  OVER 

"Just  so,  sorr.  Perhaps  they  will  say  some- 
thing to  Mishthress  Constance.  ' 

"She  — she  goes  to  this  ball,  then?"  The 
sound  of  the  name  was  like  a  funeral  knell,  toll- 
ing the  requiem  of  dead  hopes.  And  yet  it 
must  not  turn  him  from  the  path  of  duty. 

"Yis,  yer  Honor,"  replied  MacAlpine,  "and 
Oi  didn't  know  but  - 

"MacAlpine,  I'll  be  at  that  ball  — the  only 
uninvited  guest." 

Dan's  ruddy  face  grew  absolutely  pale  for  a 
moment. 

"You're  foolin',  sorr,"  he  said  weakly 

"Indeed  I'm  not,"  was  the  cheery  reply.  "I 
mean  it,  and  you  must  help  me." 

The  old  soldier  tapped  his  forehead,  with  fine 
disregard  for  the  courtesies,  and  communed 
with  nimself . 

"  He  musht  be  mad,"  murmured  MacAlpine. 

"No,  Dan,  never  more  sane.  New  troops 
arrived  yesterday,  you  say?  They'll  think  me 
one  of  the  newly  come  officers,  for  my  face  is  not 
familiar  to  the  redcoats.  .  .  .  That  uniform, 
Captain  Terence  Drake's,  should  fit  me." 

'  Shtark,  shtaring  mad,"  continued  the  old  sol- 
dier, sotto  voce.  Then  aloud:  "That  uniform? 
Oh  no;  Oi  wouldn't  dare,  sorr.  .  .  .  Begobs,  Oi 
musht  save  him  somehow,  if  it  has  to  be  by  lyin'," 
he  added  to  himself. 

Brandon  drew  himself  up  till  he  fairly  tow- 
ered over  the  short,  square  frame  of  his  host,  and 
put  both  hands  firmly  upon  his  shoulders. 

"Look  at  me,  Dan,"  said  the  major  earnestly. 

[359] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"If  Captain  Terence  were  alive  and  here  to- 
night, what  would  he  say?" 

For  a  moment  the  old  soldier  looked  grave. 
Then  a  smile  of  pride,  of  affection,  of  triumph, 
spread  over  his  face,  and  he  caught  John  Bran- 
don a  tremendous  thump  upon  the  back. 

"Captain  Terence?"  he  roared,  with  en- 
thusiasm. "Why,  he'd  say,  'Take  it,  ye  divil, 
an*  go  an*  be  hanged!" 


1300] 


F 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
The  Queen's  Ball 

ROM  cellar  to  tower  the  Province  House 
was  a  blaze  of  light.  In  every  great  win- 
dow rows  of  wax  candles  glittered  like  captive 
planets,  and  high  on  the  cupola,  where  Shem 
Drowne's  gilded  Indian  still  watched  over  Bos- 
ton, many  lanterns  had  been  strung  in  graceful 
festoons.  Surely  a  brilliant  and  picturesque 
setting  had  been  given  the  festivities  in  honor 
of  Queen  Charlotte,  and,  though  the  resplendent 
uniforms  of  the  officers,  who  were  now  arriving 
in  force,  spoke  of  war,  the  rich  and  costly  toilets 
of  their  wives,  and  of  the  Tory  ladies  of  the  town, 
seemed  to  have  little  in  common  with  a  siege 
and  the  privations  of  the  poor. 

From  the  glowing  mansion  came  the  laughter 
of  gay  men  and  women  and  the  strains  of  the 
finest  regimental  band  of  the  army.  Out  in  the 
dark  places  of  Roxbury  and  Charlestown  men 
were  pacing  back  and  forth  in  the  biting  cold 
to  watch  a  loe  that  was  ever  circling  nearer  and 
nearer;  here  was  warmth  and  wine,  beauty  and 
badinage,  and  fate  was  defied. 

Something  of  the  irony  of  this  came  to  the 
heart  of  Constance  Drake  as  she  approached 
Province  House,  escorted  by  Lieutenant  Charl- 

[361] 


ton,  with  Pompey  and  Agnes  as  attendant  imps. 
She  thought,  too,  of  another  visit  she  had  made 
to  the  place  after  a  British  revelry  of  similar  sort. 
More  than  a  year  had  rolled  away,  and  what  had 
resulted?  Nothing  but  futile  bloodshed,  the 
ultimate  meaning  of  which  she  could  hardly 
conjecture. 

Constance  and  her  little  party  were  not  early 
arrivals,  for  she  had  not  begun  to  dress  when 
Charlton  called  for  her.  Indeed,  she  had  at 
first  repented  of  her  promise  to  attend  the  ball, 
feeling  that  she  could  play  the  farce  no  more, 
and  only  the  emphatic  advice  of  Aunt  Tabitha, 
that  she  refrain  from  making  a  fool  of  a  well- 
meaning  young  man,  had  induced  her  to  go 
forth.  And  now  here  she  was,  a  Patriot  in  soul, 
but  a  Tory  by  repute,  ready  to  smile  upon  and 
dance  with  soldiers  she  hated,  in  honor  of  a  queen 
who  was  as  nothing  to  her. 

"It  is  different  now  than  it  was  then,"  she  had 
told  Barbara,  when  the  latter  suggested  that  she 
had  none  of  her  present  compunctions  when 
the  theatricals  were  given  in  Faneuil  Hall.  To 
herself  she  had  added:  "Then  I  was  obliged  to 
pose  for  an  object,  now  I  have  none.  .  .  .  But 
why  not?"  she  thought,  a  moment  later.  "I 
am  as  devoted  to  the  cause  as  ever.  I  may  still 
learn  important  facts,  and  there  surely  are  those 
who  will  know  what  use  to  make  of  such  in- 
formation besides  John  Brandon." 

But  now,  as  the  pompous  strains  of  the  band 
came  to  her  ears,  and  she  found  herself  part  of 
the  throng  of  merry-makers  at  the  portico  of  the 

[see] 


THE  QUEEN'S  BALL 

mansion,  her  mercurial  temperament  bade  all 
gloom  depart. 

"Mercy!"  whispered  her  sense  of  humor. 
"Are  you  really  going  to  enjoy  yourself  after  all, 
Constance  Drake?" 

And  truth  to  tell,  the  great  ballroom,  with  its 
mirrored  panels,  its  flashing  gold,  its  multitude 
of  elaborate  candelabra  and  its  festoons  of  flow- 
ers, completed  the  witchery  over  the  girl's 
senses.  Already  a  minuet  was  in  progress,  and 
the  stately  motions  of  the  beautifully  arrayed 
women  and  gorgeously  uniformed  men,  the  faint 
breath  of  perfumes,  the  delightful  harmonies  of 
the  band,  the  atmosphere  of  luxury  and  fashion 
-  all  were  seductive  wooers  of  Mistress  Drake's 
highly  organized  fancy,  and  she  smiled  and 
blushed  and  courtesied  as  she  met  her  erstwhile 
acquaintances,  feeling  somehow  that  she  her- 
self, with  her  pale  yellow  brocaded  satin,  her 
double  necklace  of  pearls,  and  her  powdered 
hair-tower,  in  which  stood  three  ostrich  tips, 
was  fit  for  the  lovely  setting  of  the  night's  fete. 
No  need  of  the  troop  of  courtly  cavaliers  that  be- 
gan to  circle  about  her  to  tell  her  that  now,  if 
ever,  she  was  beautiful  and  irresistible  to  that 
silly  creature,  man. 

But  as  yet  she  was  not  disposed  to  try  her 
pinions.  Indeed,  she  wished  at  first  to  watch 
the  others  dance,  and  Charlton,  by  no  means 
dismayed  on  that  account,  led  her  to  a  deep  al- 
cove at  one  side  of  the  salon,  screened,  with  the 
exception  of  a  small  entrance,  by  young  ever- 

[363] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

green  trees  brought  from  one  of  the  harbor 
islands. 

But  the  young  officer's  dreams  of  seclusion 
and  the  words  of  love  he  had  determined  to  ven- 
ture were  rudely  broken,  for  no  sooner  were  the 
pair  seated  than  sundry  redcoats,  with  a  prompt 
perspicacity  that  did  their  scouting  qualities 
credit,  began  to  besiege  the  green  barrier.  Dr. 
Gair  entered  without  compunction,  and  after 
him  came  Ensign  Cuyler  (to  get  news  of  Bar- 
bara), Lord  Rawdon,  Aylesford,  and  two  or 
three  others,  till  the  alcove  resembled  the  court 
of  a  aueen,  and  poor  Charlton  felt  that  they  were 
all  his  rivals  whom  he  could  have  sent  to  the 
Tower  with  pleasure. 

Ere  long  up  sailed  Howe  with  Percy  in  his 
wake,  and  the  others  gave  way  a  little  before 
the  great  man.  He  was  in  high  humor,  and 
greeted  Mistress  Drake  with  the  brusque  effu- 
siveness characteristic  of  him.  But  compliments 
had  already  begun  to  pall  upon  the  girl;  the 

1         •    t  •  •"•• 

personal  side  of  the  rout  seemed  to  kill  its  artistic 
beauty,  and  she  all  at  once  felt  a  great  desire  to 
be  gone  and  breathe  the  clear  air  of  night  once 
more.  She  had  almost  decided  to  exercise 
woman's  divine  right  of  fainting,  when  a  word 
from  Percy  opened  up  another  way. 

have  not  yet  seen  you  dance,   Mistress 
Drake,"  suggested  my  Lord. 

*  No.     I  —  I  do  not  care  for  the  music." 
*The    musicians    do    seem  —  dull,"    agreed 
Percy,  and  the  others  wagged  their  heads  sagely, 
as  if  to  say  to  each  other:     Dull,  indeed;  deadly 

[364] 


THE  QUEEN'S  BALL 

dull,  egad,"  although  not  one  of  the  company 
but  had  been  praising  the  band. 

"  Tw  very  dull,  Mistress  Drake,"  cried  Howe, 
gallantly.  But  we'll  change  all  that,  if  you 
will  dance.  .  .  .  Here,  sir,"  he  said  to  an  orderly, 
"tell  them  to  play  'Britons,  Strike  Home." 

As  the  officer  hurried  away,  Constance  turned 
to  Percy  with  flashing  eye  and  radiant  smile. 

"The  commander  has  made  a  mistake,"  she 
exclaimed. 

The  soldiers  were  all  ears  at  once.  Mistress 
Drake  had  said  that  the  commander  had  made 
a  mistake!  Here  was  some  clever  sally,  of 
course. 

"Yes,"  continued  Constance,  brightly,  "he 
should  have  said,  'Britons,  go  home." 

For  an  instant  a  curious  stillness  fell  upon  the 
little  alcove.  Howe's  red  face  turned  redder 

g>t,  and  he  looked  at  the  girl  with  amazement, 
ut  the  innocent  smile  he  found  upon  her  lips 
turned  the  words  from  sarcasm  to  jest,  and  me 
bluff  warrior  smiled,  too,  while  his  officers 
tried  to  stifle  their  laughter  at  the  expense  of  a 
superior. 

!<Very  good,  very  good,  indeed,  Mistress 
Drake,"  said  the  bluff  warrior  gallantly;  then 
as  the  music  changed  to  the  stirring  air:  "And 
may  I  have  the  honor  of  your  first  dance  ?" 

Constance  courtesied.  "  I  am  honored,  indeed, 
General,"  she  replied,  "but  I  regret  to  say  that 
my  first  dance  was  long  since  promised  Lieu- 
tenant Charlton,  who  has  waited  quite  enough 
already." 

[365] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Howe's  vexation  was  now  quite  visible,  for  he 
frowned  and  took  snuff  with  suspicious  energy. 
But  another  glimpse  of  the  sweet  face  and  ne 
melted  again. 

"You've  made  an  excellent  choice  of  partners, 
Mistress  Drake,"  he  said,  "and,  after  all,  per- 
haps my  dancing  days  ought  to  be  over." 

And  with  that  he  moved  away  majestically, 
while  Rawdon  and  some  of  the  others  looked 
after  him  with  grins. 

"Egad,"  said  my  Lord,  gleefully,  slapping 
his  thigh,  "  she  flouted  him  —  the  commander- 
in-chief!" 

The  court  behind  the  evergreens  was  now 
dissolved  as  Constance  and  Charlton  joined  the 
dancers,  the  handsomest  couple  in  all  that  com- 
pany of  fair  women  and  comely  men.  How 
she  got  through  the  brisk  measures  she  scarcely 
knew,  for  in  trie  midst  of  the  dance  she  saw  far 
down  at  the  edge  of  the  ballroom  a  figure  whose 
outlines  filled  her  with  wonder.  It  was  so  like 
—  yet  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  a  captain  of 
British  dragoons. 

When  the  dance  was  over  and  she  was  seated 
the  center  of  another  coterie  of  officers,  she  saw 
the  figure  once  more  and  felt  a  thrill  of  fear. 
Then  up  trotted  Dr.  Gair,  and  she  knew 
that  his  shrewdness  must  be  given  no  oppor 
tunity.  So  she  began  to  laugh  and  jest. 

"Connie,  my  girl,"  cried  the  surgeon,  "you 
dance  like  —  like  an  angel." 

"  Do  they  dance,  too,  then,  Doctor,  as  well  as 
play  the  music?" 

[366] 


THE  QUEEN'S  BALL 

"  And  as  for  you,  sir,"  said  the  doctor  to  Charl- 
ton,  "not  long  ago  I'd  have  wagered  my  best 
surgical  instrument  you  would  never  'toe*  it 
again." 

Constance  laughed,  and  tapped  the  little  sur- 
geon with  her  fan. 

"  But  he  escaped  you,  after  all,  Doctor,"  she 
retorted,  and  the  rest  tittered. 

But  for  her  the  jest  was  lost  on  the  instant  in 
the  great  wave  of  emotion  that  rushed  across  her 
brain  and  for  the  moment  blotted  out  everything 
else.  The  strange  officer  in  the  uniform  of  a 
captain  of  dragoons  had  drawn  nearer  and 
turned  his  face,  and  the  face  was  that  of  John 
Brandon. 

Constance  knew  that  she  started  with  amaze- 
ment and  that  her  eyes  could  not  escape  from 
the  look  the  Patriot  soldier  gave  her.  But  she 
did  not  know  that  Capt.  Jack  Mowatt,  sober, 
for  once,  and  the  more  dangerous  for  that,  had 
seen  the  little  quivering  of  the  shoulders,  and 
noted  the  gaze  at  the  unknown.  Nor  did  she 
think  to  wonder  why  he  so  suddenly  hurried 
from  the  ballroom. 

As  the  measured  strains  of  the  minuet  began 
again,  and  the  low  courtesies,  the  courtly  bow- 
ings, the  delicate  raising  of  hands  and  the  stately 
tread  were  in  full  play,  John  Brandon  crossed 
an  end  of  the  salon  and  made  his  way  to  the 
green  alcove.  This  Constance  noted,  and  knew 
that  she  must  follow. 

"I  will  not  dance  this,  I  think,  Lieutenant 

[367] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

Charlton,"  she  said,  as  if  weary.     "Will  you  get 
me  a  negus  and  bring  it  to  the  recess  yonder?" 

Left  there  by  her  escort,  she  auickly  looked 
about.  No  one  was  to  be  seen,  out  a  window 
was  open.  Surely  that  was  not  so  before.  As 
she  went  to  look  from  it  John  Brandon  entered 
suddenly. 

She  made  no  outcry  and  stood  immovable. 

"How  is  it  that  you  are  here?'*  was  all  she 
said. 

"  I  might  retort  in  kind,"  he  answered  coldly, 
"had  I  me  right  to  question  you." 

"This  is  no  time  for  quibbling.  Capture 
means  death  —  in  that  uniform." 

'Twas  your  father's,  Constance,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"My  father's!"  she  replied,  thrilled  to  the 
soul.  Then  the  horror  would  be  the  greater. 
"  How  did  you  obtain  access  here?" 

"By  that  window." 

"Now  fly  by  it,"  she  pleaded.  This  was  no 
time  for  the  nurture  of  animosities  bred  in  mis- 
understanding. 

"I  intended  to,"  he  answered  grimly,  "but 
two  soldiers  have  been  placed  between  it  and  the 
gate  by  which  I  entered." 

'You  are  suspected?" 

'Yes,  but  they  must  not  suspect  you.  As  if 
they  would,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh.  The 
girl  wrung  her  hands  in  a  distress  that  should 
nave  touched  his  heart. 

"Why  have  you  done  this?"  she  demanded 
harshly. 

[368] 


THE  QUEEN'S  BALL 

"To  see  you—" 

"Ah!" 

"I  might  have  said  once.  But  now  'twas 
to  —  but  you  can  guess." 

"What  can  be  done  to  save  you?"  she  cried. 

Brandon  stood  gazing  at  her  with  a  strange 
light  in  his  eves.  Around  them  floated  the  be- 
witching strains  of  the  minuet,  and  through  the 
interstices  of  the  evergreens  the  flashes  of  red 
and  the  sheen  of  silken  gowns  wove  themselves 
in  and  out  like  a  mystic  kaleidoscope.  They 
two  seemed  far  away,  and  yet  helpless  to  escape 
the  bonds  of  music  and  color. 

"Nothing  can  save  me,"  he  replied,  at  length, 
"except  a  miracle.  I  should  have  been  safe 
enough  as  an  unknown  officer  of  one  of  the 
newly  come  regiments,  but  one  man  knew  my 
face/' 

"Mowatt!"  she  cried,  in  distraction.  "Oh, 
John,  and  I  — ' 

"You  are  distracted  on  my  account,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile.  "Tis  not  worth  while.  The 
fortunes  of  war  come  to  us  all  in  one  way  or 
another." 

"John!" 

In  all  his  life  Brandon  had  never  heard  his 
name  uttered  like  this.  Before  its  wistful  ap- 
peal, its  love-tenderness,  its  thrill  of  anxiety, 
all  his  reserve  dropped  like  a  worn-out  mask, 
and  he  sprang  forward  with  arms  extended. 
Into  their  strong  enclosure  went  the  girl,  with 
beating  heart  and  dewy  eyes,  and  laid  her  beau- 

[369] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

tiful  head  upon  the  self-same  bit  of  red  cloth 
that  it  had  nestled  against  in  babyhood. 

"Constance,"  said  the  soldier,  in  the  low  tone 
of  deep  emotions,  "you  cannot  mean  that  you 
—  love  me  still." 

"You  don't  —  deserve  it  —  but — "  And 
then  there  were  no  more  words  for  a  moment, 
because  lips  were  upon  lips  and  the  language  of 
hearts  SDOKC  for  them. 

But  this  bliss  was  short-lived,  for  over  the 
shoulder  of  his  beloved,  and  through  a  space  in 
the  trees,  Brandon  could  see  Lieutenant  Charl- 
ton  carefully  picking  his  way  through  the  crowd 
with  a  cup  01  negus  in  one  hand. 

"Charlton,"   exclaimed   John.     "I—" 

"Oh,  don't  fear,"  smiled  the  girl,  "I  shall  not 
trip  on  my  skirt  and  fall  into  his  arms  again." 

*  Constance!"  was  the  enraptured  reply,  as  a 
wonderful  light  broke  in  upon  his  dark  mem- 
ories. She  looked  at  him  with  mournful  eyes. 

"Poor  fools  that  we  are,"  she  murmured,  al- 
most bitterly,  "with  death  hovering  above  us." 

"I'll  fight  for  my  life,"  he  answered  stoutly. 

Perhaps  I  may  yet  escape.  Promise  me  this: 
whatever  happens  to-night,  do  not  seek  to  help 
me  and  do  not  recognize  me  under  any  condi- 
tions. Promise  me  and  I'll  use  all  my  wits." 

"  I  promise,"  she  said  simply,  and  they  sealed 
the  compact.  Then  as  Cnarlton  drew  near, 
Brandon  stepped  behind  the  foliage  in  the  em- 
brasure of  the  window. 

But  now  Mistress  Drake  was  not  in  the  mood 
for  her  negus;  she  would  be  pleased  to  dance, 

[370] 


THE  QUEEN'S  BALL 

she  said,  and  Charlton,  puzzled  but  still  en- 
slaved, led  her  upon  the  floor  and  they  took 
positions  in  the  minuet.  But  her  heart  was 
never  for  an  instant  in  the  pretty  ceremony; 
when  she,  with  a  score  of  other  women,  came 
by  twos  down  through  a  pointed  archway  of 
flashing  swords  held  aloft  by  the  officers,  it 
seemed  but  typical  of  the  weapon  of  fate  that 
was  over  the  heads  of  herself  and  the  soldier  of 
her  choice. 

And  then,  just  as  the  dance  ceased,  she  saw 
him  walking  steadily  across  the  floor  to  the  re- 
freshment room,  followed  by  the  keen  and 
searching  glances  of  Lord  Percy  and  Mowatt, 
who  passed  so  close  to  the  girl  that  she  could 
hear  the  Earl  say:  "It  seems  incredible,  Captain, 
but  you  have  a  right  to  what  you  ask." 

Although  heartsick  and  weary  of  all  the  pag- 
eantry that  so  mocked  her  happiness,  Constance 
felt  that  she  must  follow  the  game  to  its  end 
and  asked  Charlton  to  take  her  to  the  refresh- 
ment room. 

The  place  was  thronged,  a  mass  of  brilliant 
color,  flashing  jewels,  shimmering  satins,  and 
handsome  faces.  No  less  handsome  than  the 
rest,  Constance  thought  with  a  thrill  of  pride, 
was  the  dark,  serious  countenance  of  her  lover, 
whom  she  must  not  recognize  even  with  the 
quiver  of  an  eyelash. 

He  stood  near  Percy  and  some  others  by  a 
table  on  which  were  a  magnificent  crystal  punch- 
bowl and  scores  of  beautiful  glasses.  The  Earl 
had  filled  his,  and  held  it  aloft,  while  all  around 

[371] 


him  up  went  scarlet  arms  in  the  strong  thrust 
of  loyalty. 

"  I  propose  the  health  of  the  King,"  cried  my 
Lord.  "Are  all  filled?  .  .  .  You,  sir,  will  you 
not  pledge  us?"  he  asked  of  Brandon,  whose 
right  hand  was  empty. 

As  through  the  mist  of  a  dream,  Constance 
saw  the  American  officer  take  the  glass  handed 
to  him  by  a  flunkey.  She  realized  that  he 

f  ripped  it  convulsively,  and  she  noted,  too,  that 
is  glance  was  upon  Mowatt.  She  turned,  and 
the  smile  of  triumph  she  found  upon  the  brutal 
captain's  face  told  her  that  fate  had  raised  its 
hammer  to  crush  them  both. 

"To  the  King!"  shouted  Percy,  and  every 
man,  save  one,  raised  his  glass. 

"To  the  King!  to  the  King!"  roared  the  rest. 

But  John  Brandon  held  his  glass  at  his  side. 
A  low  muttering  arose,  horrible  to  the  ears  of 
the  girl.  Lord  Percy  frowned. 

"  You  do  not  drink,  sir,"  he  exclaimed  sternly 
to  Brandon.  "To  the  King,  I  say!" 

The  American  raised  his  glass  slowly,  and  a 
pleasant  smile  lighted  his  face. 

"I  pledge  you,  Lord  Percy,  gladly,"  he  began. 

'What  would  he  do?"  murmured  Constance. 

"I  pledge  you  gladly  and  freely  the  King's 
health,"  Brandon  went  on,  his  eyes  sparkling, 
and  his  head  thrown  back  with  a  superb  gesture 
of  defiance,  "discomfiture  to  his  ministers,  and 
long  life  to  George  Washington,  whose  birthday 
this  is!" 

And  with  that  challenge  he  drained  the  glass, 

[872] 


THE  QUEEN'S  BALL 

then  flung  it  to  the  floor,  where  it  crashed  into  a 
hundred  sparkling  fragments.  For  one  instant 
silence  held  the  crowd  in  its  mastery;  then  came 
a  thunder  of  oaths,  shouts,  and  feminine  shrieks 
mingled  with  the  clangor  of  swords  rushing  from 
their  scabbards.  Brandon's  life  might  have 
paid  the  forfeit  then  and  there,  but  that  Percy 
raised  his  arm  and  demanded  silence. 

Brandon,  still  smiling,  stood  beside  him  in  as 
careless  an  attitude  as  if  he  were  some  honored 
guest. 

"  You  may  place  this  man  under  arrest,  Cap- 
tain Mowatt,'  said  the  Earl,  calmly. 


(§78) 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
The  Court  Martial 

FOR  Constance  there  was  no  longer  any  pos- 
sibility of  remaining  at  the  ball,  which, 
after  the  startling  episode  in  the  refreshment 
room,  went  on  witn  renewed  gaiety. 

Out  in  the  moonlit  street  with  Lieutenant 
Charlton,  she  walked  silent  and  depressed,  and 
the  officer  respected  her  mood  —  indeed,  shared 
it,  for  he  now  felt  that  the  words  he  would  have 
spoken  an  hour  earlier  must  remain  forever  un- 
said. He  did  not  venture  to  intrude  into  her 
distress  until  she  herself  gave  utterance  to  it. 

"What  will  they  do  with  him?"  she  asked, 
in  a  tense,  thrilling  whisper.  He  knew  full  well, 
but  could  only  temporize. 

"What  will  they  do  with  him?"  she  asked 
again,  and  stealing  a  glance  at  her  face,  he  saw 
that  the  girl  haa  died  and  that  the  mature 
woman  had  come  into  being.  What  the  hor- 
rors of  war  had  failed  to  do,  this  peril  to  one  be- 
loved had  accomplished  in  an  instant.  He 
must  answer  —  somehow. 

"He  —  he  will  be  asked  to  explain  his  pres- 
ence in  the  town  in  —  in  that  uniform,  '  he 
faltered. 

"And  if  he  cannot  explain?"  she  pursued. 

[3741 


THE  COURT  MARTIAL 

"But  he  doubtless  can,"  replied  the  soldier, 
trying  to  assume  a  tone  of  confidence.  "The 
very  boldness  of  the  deed  may  be  its  excuse. 
And,  of  course,  if  he  came  only  to  see  you  — " 

She  seized  upon  his  words  with  pitiful  eager- 
ness. He  felt  the  hand  upon  his  arm  tremble. 

"Aye,  that  is  it,"  she  cried.  "For  what  other 
purpose  could  he  have  come  ?  We  had  —  had 
quarreled,  and  he  sought  me  there  for  recon- 
ciliation." 

"Poor  creature,"  thought  Charlton,  "to  be 
so  easily  deceived.  But  'tis  better  so." 

"Can  I  do  nothing  —  to-night  I  mean?"  she 
continued. 

Charlton  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"And  he  must  spend  the  night  in  prison?" 

"Yes." 

"It  is  terrible.  Lord  Percy  is  my  friend,  can- 
not I  see  him  and  explain?" 

"To-morrow,  if  you  choose,  Mistress  Drake. 
To-night  it  would  be  worse  than  useless.  It 
might  even  harm  Major  Brandon's  cause." 

He  left  her  at  the  door  of  her  uncle's  house, 
where  Pompey,  who  alone  of  all  the  inmates  was 
awake,  admitted  her.  As  he  bade  her  good- 
night he  spoke  a  word  or  two  of  hope  and  cheer. 

Before  ner  chamber  door  she  found  Queue 
stretched  out  in  his  accustomed  place.  He 
wagged  his  tail  lazily  and  looked  into  her  face 
with  eloquent  eyes  .  A  great  hunger  for  sym- 
pathy, for  the  companionship  of  some  faithful, 
loving  thing,  came  upon  her,  and  she  called  the 
dog  into  her  room. 

[575] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"I  cannot  be  alone  to-night,  Queue,"  she  said, 
and  the  animal  licked  her  hand  in  appreciation 
of  such  unheard-of  distinction. 

But  more  was  to  follow.  Plump  down  on 
the  floor  with  all  her  ballroom  finery,  she  drew 
the  great  dog's  body  close  to  her  own,  and  made 
him  the  confidant  of  all  the  terrible  anxiety  that 
oppressed  her. 

He  must  have  come  to  see  me,  Queue,"  she 
said.  "  Even  then  he  might  have  gone  free  had 
not  my  fears  betrayed  him  to  that  suspicious 
officer  —  Mowatt !  My  fears  of  that  man  spoke 
truly;  He  was  my  enemy  —  our  enemy." 

Through  the  cloud  of  sorrow  came  a  little  ray 
of  light,  created  by  that  word  "our."  Come 
what  might,  it  was  sweet  to  feel  that  the  com- 
radeship of  love  had  arisen  strong  and  eternal. 

"Nothing  can  part  us  now,"  she  murmured. 
"  Nothing  but  —  death.  Death  ?  No,  no,  not 
that — for  a  bit  of  lover's  folly.  I'll  humble 
myself  before  them  all  —  to  Percy,  to  General 
Howe.  We'll  save  him,  Queue,  we'll  save  him!" 

And  so,  in  alternate  moods  of  despair  and  of 
hope,  she  poured  out  her  heart  to  the  dumb 
beast,  till  at  last  she  slept,  her  head  resting  on  the 
dog's  shaggy  body.  The  candle  sputtered  in  its 
socket,  and  went  out  at  last,  and  when  the  dawn 
turned  the  blackness  of  the  room  into  dim  gray, 
Queue  turned  his  head  once  or  twice  to  look  at 
the  drawn  face  he  loved,  but  did  not  move  until 
his  mistress  awoke. 

The  sun  was  high,  and  she  started  up  with 
self-reproaches.  So  late,  and  so  much  to  be 

[376] 


THE  COURT  MARTIAL 

done!  Off  came  the  ball-dress  with  feverish 
haste,  and  then  a  peep  into  her  mirror.  Oh, 
that  pale,  wan  face;  it  would  never  do;  this  was 
the  day  she  must  look  her  best.  She  flung  up 
her  window  and  drank  the  frosty  air  in  great 
gulps.  She  plunged  her  face  into  cold  water, 
and  rubbed  the  roses  back. 

Then  she  chose  a  dress  which  she  knew  suited 
her  well,  and  hurried  to  the  breakfast-table. 

When  old  Romney  came  down,  she  took  him 
aside  and  told  him  in  a  few  vivid  words  what 
had  happened.  He  gasped  with  astonishment 
and  distress. 

"In  a  British  uniform,  you  say?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  'twas  my  father's." 

"  Your  father's  ?     Why,  how  - 

"One  Dan  MacAlpine  had  preserved.  .  .  .  Ah! 
now  I  know  how  to  save  him.  Dan  can  tell  why 
he  took  the  uniform." 

"Well,  child,  what  of  that?"  queried  Romney 
doubtfully. 

"Why,  don't  you  see?"  she  replied  eagerly. 
"  He  must  have  told  Dan  that  he  wanted  to  come 
to  the  ball  to  see  me.  We  shall  save  him,  uncle, 
we  shall  save  him! " 

But  the  old  man  was  still  puzzled. 

"To  see  you?"  he  asked.  "Why  need  he  go 
to  the  ball  to  see  you  ?" 

Constance  blushed,  but  smiled  for  the  first 
time  in  many  hours. 

"  Oh,  I  remember,  you  do  not  know.  We  — 
we  had  a  misunderstanding  and  —  and  he  was 
anxious  — " 

[977] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

A  great  light  now  broke  in  upon  Giles  Rom- 
ney. 

You  —  you  love  him,  Constance,"  he  cried, 
taking  the  girl  by  both  arms  and  looking  fairly 
into  her  eyes.  "  You  love  him ! " 

"Love  him?"  she  echoed  fervently  her  faith 
shining  upon  her  brow.  'Yes,  I  do  love  him. 
I  shall  tell  them  all  so,  and  they  will  give  him 
back  to  me." 

"Poor  child,"  thought  the  old  man,  as  he 
watched  her  leave  the  house.  He  knew  the 
hopelessness  of  her  quest,  a  quest  in  which 
even  beauty  and  charm  could  not  prevail.  He 
saw  her  go  to  the  door  of  Lord  Percy's  house 
and  raise  the  great  brass  knocker.  A  few  mo- 
ments later  he  noted  that  she  descended  the  steps 
and  walked  hastily  around  the  corner. 

"Lord  Percy  has  been  gone  an  hour,"  the 
Earl's  valet  had  told  her.  "There's  a  court 
martial  this  morning  —  a  rebel  spy  caught  last 
night  at  the  ball,  I  believe." 

With  a  horrible  weight  at  her  brain  she  made 
her  way  down  Longacre,  the  awful  refrain  sing- 
ing itself  to  her  step :  "  A  rebel  spy,  a  rebel  spy, 
a  rebel  spy." 

It  seemed  an  age  until  she  reached  the  digni- 
fied wooden  building  where  Lord  Percy  had 
his  official  headquarters,  but  at  last  she  dragged 
herself  up  the  steps  and  gave  her  name  to  the 
man  on  guard  and  ushered  her  into  a  small 
waiting-room. 

For  a  half-hour  that  was  absolutely  unlike 
time  in  that  there  seemed  to  be  no  progress  of 

[878] 


THE  COURT  MARTIAL 

moments,  she  sat  there  eating  her  heart  out, 
hearing  nothing  but  the  dull  droning  of  voices 
in  an  adjoining  room.  Then  at  last  Percy  came. 

"My  dear  Mistress  Drake,"  he  exclaimed, 
"to  what  am  I  indebted  for  this  honor?" 

"I  came  to  see  you,  my  Lord,"  she  replied, 
with  a  calmness  that  ever  after  seemed  miracu- 
lous to  her  memory,  "I  came  to  see  you  to  be- 
speak your  influence  for  a  prisoner." 

"Ah,  indeed,"  he  said  kindly,  "I  will  do  all 
that  I  can.  Who  is  it  whose  condition  has 
touched  your  tender  sympathies?" 

"The  prisoner  taken  at  last  night's  ball." 

The  Earl  started,  and  looked  at  Constance 
through  half-closed  lids  as  if  trying  to  better  his 
poor  sight  in  reading  her  face. 

"Not  —  not  Major  Brandon ?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,  my  Lord,"  was  the  earnest  reply. 

"Ah,"  Percy  went  on  thoughtfully,  "I  had 
forgotten  that  he  was  a  friend  of  your  family." 
He  paused,  and  Constance  felt  that  she  was  ex- 
pected to  go  on. 

"I  came  to  you,  sir,"  she  began,  "as  a  —  as 
another  friend  of  my  family,  to  explain  last  night's 

Jiff  fill* 

"  To  explain  ?     I  do  not  — " 

"You  do  not  see  how  I  can  explain?"  she 
finished  brightly.  '  'Tis  simple.  We  —  he  and 
I  are  —  well,  you  must  understand.  We  had 
—  quarreled,  and  before  he  went  back  to  duty 
he  resolved  to  see  me  and  set  matters  straight 
again,  and  borrowed  the  uniform,  my  father's 
uniform." 

[379] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Your  father's?     Oh,  yes,  I  remember." 

"Yes,  my  Lord,  from  Dan  MacAlpine,  my 
father's  orderly,  who  has  cherished  it  as  a  keep- 
sake these  many  years." 

"Poor  girl!"  thought  the  soldier,  wondering 
how  long  she  could  keep  up  the  sad  little  fiction. 

"And  I  thought  it  best,"  she  went  on,  wist- 
fully, "you  should  know,  so  that,  should  there  be 
a  trial,  I  - 

"There  has  been  a  trial,  Mistress  Drake," 
was  the  solemn  reply. 

"Already ?     Then  I  may  go  to  him  at  once ?" 

"I  fear  not." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  cried  wildly,  a  great 
darkness  closing  her  about.  "  He  —  he  is  not — " 

"I  would  you  learned  the  truth  from  other 
lips  than  mine,"  said  Percy,  his  generous  soul 
yearning  toward  the  girl  with  a  supreme  pity. 

"  Learned  what  ?  He  is  —  not  —  guilty  ?  " 
Her  question  was  full  of  pleading,  as  if  by  asking 
it  she  might  alter  the  decrees  01  destiny.  Lord 
Percy  would  have  given  his  rank,  almost,  to  es- 
cape being  the  executioner  of  hope,  but  there 
was  naught  to  do  but  nod  assent. 

"And  he  is  —  to  be  imprisoned ?"  she  queried 
pitifully. 

"No,  Mistress  Drake." 

'Tell  me  —  all,  then,"  she  demanded,  stand- 
ing pale  and  straight  before  him.  "See,  I  am 
brave,  I  can  bear  it." 

'The  sentence  was,"  said  the  Earl,  slowly, 
"that  as  he  was  an  officer  and  a  brave  man,  ne 
should  be  shot  at  sunrise  to-morrow." 

[380] 


CHAPTER  XL 
A  Conditional  Pardon 

ENTLY  as  Lord  Percy  had  delivered  his 
terrible  message  to  Constance  Drake,  he 
felt  that  its  dread  meaning  must  at  once  over- 
whelm her  mentally  and  physically,  and  he  was 
ready  to  summon  aid  for  the  expected  collapse. 
But  she  did  not  falter  nor  move. 

There  she  stood,  like  some  beautiful  being 
turned  to  stone,  her  eyes  staring  at  him  dully, 
her  hands  tightly  clasped.  He  would  have 
thought  she  had  not  comprehended  but  for  the 
leaden  pallor  that  slowly  crept  over  her  face. 

Under  the  strange  scrutiny,  the  soldier  grew 
nervous,  and  fingered  his  sword-hilt,  as  he  tried 
to  think  what  best  to  say  to  break  this  deadly 
oppressiveness.  But  the  girl  relieved  him  of 
that  sorry  task.  Slowly,  and  as  if  each  word 
were  in  a  foreign  tongue  in  which  every  sound 
must  be  studied,  she  broke  the  long  silence. 

"Condemned?"  she  said.  "And  upon  what 
evidence?" 

"His  own  —  his  admissions  added  to  the  self- 
evident  facts.  .  .  .  Will  you  not  sit  down,  and 
may  —  may  I  get  you  a  glass  of  wine  ?" 

She  shook:  her  head  ever  so  slightly,  and  went 
on  in  the  same  strained,  uncanny  voice. 

[381] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Thank  you,  I  need  nothing.  But  there  was 
other  evidence  —  mine." 

"  It  is  noble  of  you,  my  dear  young  lady,  but 
I  doubt  if  Major  Brandon  would  accept  such  a 
sacrifice." 

"A  sacrifice?     I  do  not  understand." 

"  You  mean,  do  you  not,  that  you  would  assert 
that  because  of  a  —  a  quarrel  — 

"A  lovers  quarrel,"  she  amended,  unshrink- 
ingly. Before  this  gallant  English  soldier  and 
gentleman  the  doors  of  her  heart  were  thrown 
back  in  perfect  trust.  Something  of  this  he  felt, 
and  he  bowed  with  the  conviction  that  here  was 
one  of  the  rarest  compliments  of  his  life. 

"And  because  of  that,"  he  asked  gently,  uhe 
came  to  the  ball  in  disguise?" 

"Yes." 

"The  shock  and  the  strain  have  been  severe; 
you  do  not  realize  what  that  would  mean  - 

"If  it  would  mean  his  freedom,  naught  else 
would  matter,"  she  exclaimed  almost  jubilantly. 
"And  it  would  mean  his  freedom  —  or  at  worst 
a  brief  imprisonment,  would  it  not,  my  Lord?" 

The  wistfulness,  the  tender  pleading  in  the 
question,  the  trembling  of  the  lip,  and  the  dewy 
brimming  of  the  eyes  told  the  Earl  that  here  was 
but  a  woman  after  all.  Chivalrous  ever,  he  felt 
a  special  yearning  toward  the  girl  who  had  been 
his  pleasant  neighbor  for  many  months.  He 
placed  a  chair  for  her  with  mild  command. 

"Sit  down,  Mistress  Drake,"  he  said.  "Rest 
assured  I  will  do  all  I  can  and  may." 

[382] 


The  smile  that  flitted  across  the  lovely  face, 
wan  and  pathetic  though  it  was,  amply  repaid 
him. 

"Thanks  would  be  absurd,  my  Lord,"  said 
the  girl,  looking  up  at  him  gratefully,  "but  your 
woras  give  me  new  life.  You  will  not  fail." 

"Heaven  knows  I  wish  I  felt  so,"  he  thought. 
But  he  said  aloud:  "This  much  I  promise: 
Major  Brandon  shall  not  die  to-morrow." 

There  was  no  word  of  reply,  but  only  a  grop- 
ing for  the  soldier's  hand,  and  a  pressure  from 
another  that  told  him  of  a  woman's  thanks. 
Yet  he  could  not  let  his  rainbow  of  promise  be 
too  highly  colored. 

"I  must  give  you  no  false  hopes,"  he  con- 
tinued gravely.  "Twill  be  but  a  reprieve. 
As  for  the  evidence  that  you  offer  so  freely,  there 
is  no  need,  as  vet,  that  you  should  give  it." 

"Why  not?  '  she  asked.  "It  might  mean  so 
much." 

"Yes,  as  you  say,  it  might  mean  so  much. 
But  I  myself  can  state  the  facts.  This  may 
make  your  exposure  to  the  unpleasant  publicity 
of  personal  testimony  unnecessary  —  or  useless,  ' 
he  added,  to  his  thoughts. 

For  the  first  time  since  Percy's  pronouncement 
of  John  Brandon's  fate,  the  pink  blush  of  young 
womanhood  stole  back  across  the  white  cheeks 
and  life  shone  warm  in  her  eyes. 

"If  it  is  not  necessary,  of  course  I  would  not 
seek  to  testify,"  she  said,  "but  I  should  feel  no 
shame." 

"  Rest  assured  that  I  will  do  for  you  all  that  I 

[3831 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

would  were  you  my  own  sister,"  said  Percy. 
"  Come  to  me  on  Monday  next  at  about  this 
hour." 

"May  I  —  may  I  see  him ?"  she  asked,  rising 
from  her  chair. 

"I  think  it  were  better  not  —  for  his  sake," 
was  the  gentle  reply.  And  he  ushered  the  girl 
to  the  door  with  sincere  courtesy. 

He  watched  her  up  the  street,  then  turned  to 
his  desk  and  papers  with  a  sigh.  "To  be  loved 
—  like  that  —  "  ne  mused,  "  by  such  a  woman  — 
and  to  die.  Poor  girl!  Poor  Brandon!" 


The  days  that  must  pass  before  Monday 
should  come  with  its  momentous  hours  were 
hastened  for  Constance  by  the  intense  activity 
with  which  she  threw  herself  into  her  home  work 
and  her  little  charities,  and  brightened  by  the 
gleams  of  hope  that  now  and  then  thrust  their 
gold  through  the  gray.  She  said  little  to  her 
family  about  Brandon's  imprisonment,  nor  did 
they  care  to  bring  the  matter  up. 

*  I  feel  too  deeply  to  talk  about  it,"  she  told 
her  uncle.  "But  I  feel  that  he  will  be  saved." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head,  but  not  for  her  to 
see.  It  was  no  part  of  his  kindly  nature  to  sad- 
den the  heart  of  the  girl  he  loved  by  the  least 
scepticism.  So  he  took  snuff  cheerily,  and  did 
his  best  to  make  her  hope. 

On  Sunday  the  girl  visited  Dan  MacAlpine, 
and  talked  over  the  situation  long  and  earnestly. 
Barbara,  too,  was  her  confidant,  and  the  two 

[384] 


A  CONDITIONAL  PARDON 

spent  many  wakeful  hours  in  bed  over  the  mat- 
ter, with  Constance  as  consoler,  as  ever. 

In  good  time  on  Monday  morning  the  ex- 
fencer  appeared  at  the  Romney  mansion,  ar- 
rayed in  his  choicest,  and  whistling  as  gaily  as 
if  there  were  no  pain  and  sorrow  in  all  the  world. 
Then  he  tucked  Constance  under  his  arm  with 
many  a  jovial  word  of  encouragement,  and  off 
they  went  to  Percy's  headquarters. 

They  were  admitted  to  the  Earl's  room  without 
delay,  and  cordially  greeted  —  or,  at  least,  Con- 
stance was.  As  for  old  Dan,  who  stood  at  sa- 
lute in  regulation  style,  the  officer  gave  him  a 
look  of  inquiry  that  seemed  to  demand  an  ex- 
planation. 

"This  is  Dan  MacAlpine,  my  Lord,"  said 
Constance. 

"Ah,  I  remember,  the  owner  of  the  uniform. 
Is  he  to  remain?" 

"  If  you  please.     He  is  in  my  full  confidence." 

"Perhaps  it  is  better  so,"  replied  the  Earl, 
drawing  forward  a  chair  for  Constance.  "Now, 
I  will  be  as  brief  as  possible,  for  I  realize  that 
the  strain  must  be  very  great.  Major  Bran- 
don's sentence  has  been  suspended  - 

"Ah!"  came  from  Constance's  lips,  as  she 
arose  by  the  very  power  of  great  joy.  He  held 
up  a  warning  hand. 

"But  do  not  misunderstand  me,"  he  cau- 
tioned. "It  is  only  a  reprieve  for  one  week 
from  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Then  there  is  to  be  another  trial  ?  "  she  asked 
nervously,  but  still  smiling. 

[385] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"No,"  he  answered  gravely.  "It  is  not 
thought  necessary.  Your  evidence  has  been  con- 
sidered. Taken  alone  it  would  have  had  weight, 
but  there  are  other  features  that  place  Major 
Brandon's  personal  motives,  excellent  as  they 
certainly  are,  entirely  out  of  consideration." 

"I  —  I  do  not  understand,"  she  faltered. 

"I  will  be  very  frank  and  you  must  be  very 
cool  and  brave  if  you  —  I  may  say  we,  are  to 
save  him." 

At  that  she  drew  herself  up  with  all  her  old 
spirit,  and  looked  him  resolutely  in  the  face. 

"I  will  be  brave,  and  you  can  see  that  I  am 
cool,"  she  said. 

"We  have  our  spies,  Mistress  Drake,"  Percy 
began,  "for  they  are  as  necessary  in  war  as  mus- 
kets or  cannon,  and  the  ignominy  that  attaches 
to  the  work  of  a  military  spy  is  purely  for  self- 
preservation,  for  were  spying  not  made  the  least 
coveted  part  of  war,  its  perils  would  be  multi- 
plied - 

An  orderly  came  in,  spoke  a  few  words  in  an 
undertone,  and  was  out  again  with  the  swift- 
ness of  the  trained  soldier. 

"Our  spies,"  continued  the  Earl,  "know  that 
Major  Brandon  has  been  in  town  on  several 
occasions  during  the  siege,  and  that  he  was  sent 
here  for  a  definite  purpose  this  time.  His  de- 
sire to  see  you  may  have  encouraged  him  to  take 
the  risk  he  did,  but  he  was  also  here  as  a  de- 
tailed representative  of  the  opposing  army  —  in 
plain  words  as  a  spy.  ...  I  am  not  disheartening 
you  too  much,  Mistress  Drake  ?  Shall  I  go  on  ? 

[3861 


A  CONDITIONAL  PARDON 

"Yes,  yes.  I  must  hear  all,"  was  the  calm 
reply,  although  the  girl  paled  a  little. 

"Our  men  who  oring  this  information  also 
have  the  important  news  that  the  Americans  are 
preparing  for  some  weighty  enterprise,  but  its 
nature  is  kept  a  profound  secret.  The  soldiers 
and  the  officers  of  lesser  rank  do  not  know,  for 
some  of  them  have  been  —  well,  sounded.  Is 
this  all  quite  clear?" 

'Yes,  but  I  do  not  understand  — " 

"Its  bearing  on  Major  Brandon's  case?" 
asked  the  officer.  "We  shall  reach  that  pres- 
ently." 

He  went  to  his  desk  and  took  from  a  pigeon- 
hole a  folded  paper  tied  with  red  tape.  This  he 
held  out  in  his  left  hand,  and  tappea  significantly 
with  his  right.  Constance's  eyes  followed  him  as 
if  fascinated,  and  her  breath  came  quicker. 

"I  have  here,"  said  Percy,  " a  pardon  for  John 
Brandon,  major,  so-called,  in  the  rebel  army!" 

Out  flashed  Constance's  hands  as  if  to  seize 
the  document.  Her  breast  heaved  and  her  eyes 
glowed  with  gratitude,  love,  and  triumph. 

"A  pardon!"  she  cried  exultingly.  "Oh, 
give  it  to  me!" 

"Do  not  excite  yourself,  I  beg,"  urged  the 
soldier.  "It  is  signed  by  General  Howe,  and 
needs  but  my  signature  to  be  complete.  But 
before  I,  in  justice  to  my  oath  to  my  King,  can 
sign  it,  certain  conditions  must  be  fulfilled.  ' 

"And  they  are?"  she  asked,  breathlessly. 

"These:  if  Major  Brandon  shall,  before  sun- 
rise one  week  from  to-morrow,  give  us  informa- 

[387] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

tion  as  to  the  intent  of  the  forces  under  Wash- 
ington, he  will  be  reprieved  again,  and,  when 
his  information  is  proven  to  be  true,  he  will  be 
set  free." 

Constance  sank  into  her  chair  slowly,  all  the 
radiance  gone  from  her  face.  She  opened  her 
lips  to  speak,  but  Percy,  with  gentle  courtesy, 
took  the  words  from  her  mouth. 

"I  know  what  you  would  say,  and  I  would 
not  have  you  say  otherwise.  But  life  is  very 
sweet,  and,  after  all,  his  information  would 
probably  change  nothing  — " 

"My  Lord,  all  spies  are  not  traitors  as  well," 
she  said  coldly. 

"I  have  had  the  best  of  reason  to  know  that," 
said  the  Earl.  "But  I  have  done  the  best,  all 
that  I  could  do.  At  worst  the  —  the  end  is  de- 
layed, and,  besides,  this  new  situation  will  enable 
you  to  see  the  prisoner  at  any  time  you  please." 

"I  may  see  him?" 

"Certainly.  It  was  thought  that  your  in- 
fluence —  you  see  I  still  speak  frankly  —  might 
shake  his  resolution." 

The  girl  heard  little  of  what  the  soldier  was 
saying  now.  A  week!  That  was  the  sum  total 
of  her  happiness,  for  a  week  is  eternity  when 
death  has  been  held  at  bay,  and  within  it  what 
fortunes  of  war  might  not  be  reversed?  The 
Earl  had  hinted  at  some  vaguely  suspected  Amer- 
ican movement;  fate  might  be  kind,  and  send  it 
soon.  And  then,  prisoners  had  been  rescued 
before  —  But  she  must  listen. 

"I  need  not  say,  perhaps,"  he  was  saying, 

[388] 


A  CONDITIONAL  PARDON 

"  that  this  freedom  to  see  Major  Brandon  is  ac- 
corded only  that  you  may  induce  him  to  —  to, 
well,  make  the  best  of  a  bad  situation." 

"I  shall  certainly  encourage  him  to  make  the 
best  of  it,"  she  replied,  and  if  Percy  heard  the 
significant  little  accent  upon  "best,"  he  gave  no 
sign.  Instead,  he  went  to  his  desk,  wrote  briefly, 
and  handed  a  bit  of  paper  to  the  girl. 

"This  will  admit  you  to  Major  Brandon  at 
any  time,"  he  said. 

MacAlpine,  who  had  been  standing  like  a 
rotund  graven  image  throughout  the  interview, 
saluted  again. 

"If  you  plaze,  sorr,"  he  asked,  "may  some- 
one, —  me,  perhaps,  —  go  wid  her  ?  " 

"It  would  be  well  if  you  were  her  escort," 
said  Percy,  "but  into  the  prison  it  is  beyond  my 
power  to  admit  you." 

Constance  and  MacAlpine  walked  for  some 
distance  in  silence.  But  one  thought  was  upper- 
most in  the  girl's  mind.  Presently  she  gave  it 
voice. 

"John  would  not  speak,  would  he,  Dan?" 

"No,  not  if  he  knows.  But  perhaps  he  don't 
know." 

"Then  there  is  not  even  that  hope.*' 

"  Oh,  Oi  dunno,"  was  the  cheerful  reply.  "  If 
he  knows  nothin',  he  can  till  anythin*  and 
mebbe  it'll  come  thrue.  If  it  do'n't  twill  at  laste 
gain  toime,  and  whin  there's  a  noose  in  a  rope 
and  an  army  outsoide  that  moight  cut  it,  toime 
is  iv'rytiiing." 

[889] 


CHAPTER  XLI 
A  Tender  Temptation 

TO  see  the  man  she  loved !  That  was  the  piti- 
fully joyous  refrain  that  sang  through  Con- 
stance's being  as  she  hastened  home  to  think. 
It  might  be  to-day  —  now  —  as  the  little  slip  in 
her  bosom  reminded  her.  But  was  it  best? 
As  she  realized  her  own  agitation,  she  decided 
that  it  was  too  soon.  She  was  unnerved  her- 
self; she  must  not  unnerve  him. 

"Besides,"  she  said  to  herself,  "there  must 
be  some  plan  devised.  .  .  .  Plan  ?  What  plan  can 
there  be  —  la  helpless  woman  and  he  an  im- 
prisoned man.  If  only  Toby  Gookin  were 
here." 

She  told  her  uncle  merely  that  a  reprieve  had 
been  granted  and  that  the  young  American 
would  be  saved.  But  that  night,  when  there 
was  no  more  spirit  left  in  her,  she  broke  down 
and  became  the  weak,  fearsome,  pitiable  girl 
again. 

"Oh,  Bab,  Bab,"  she  cried,  "'tis  horrible, 
horrible!" 

"But  you  just  said  that  John  was  reprieved 
and  would  be  soon  set  free,"  protested  Barbara. 

"  Did  I  ?  Why,  of  course  I  did,  and  I  meant 
it,  too.  But  there  is  a  condition,  dear." 

[390] 


A  TENDER  TEMPTATION 

"A  condition?" 

Then  she  told  the  story  of  John  Brandon's 
temptation — how  his  life  might  be  saved  by  him- 
self, if  only  he  would  tell  the  English  what  they 
wished  to  know. 

"And,"  she  concluded  gravely,  "unless  he 
does  tell  the  American  plans  before  next  Tues- 
day morning  of  next  week,  he  will  be  — " 

"He  will  be  shot?"  finished  Barbara,  her 
dimpled  fingers  clutching  at  the  kerchief  across 
her  bosom.  Constance  nodded.  Then,  with 
a  wild  impulse  of  denial,  she  cried : 

"Shot?  No.  He  shall  not  be!  He  must 
save  himself  for  my  —  for  our  sakes." 

"Indeed  he  must,"  echoed  Barbara  decisively. 
"He  must  tell  what  they  want  to  know." 

"Tell  what  he  knows?"  queried  Constance, 
thoughtfully.  "No,  no,  Bat,  he  cannot,  he 
must  not.  That  would  make  him  a  traitor." 

But  the  little  girl  was  unconvinced. 

"  What  is  the  war  to  his  life,  to  our  happiness  ?  " 
she  implored  tearfully.  "It  would — kill  me — " 

"I  know,  I  know,"  cried  the  other  hurriedly. 
"There  must  be  a  way.  There  shall  be!" 

But  a  night  of  planning,  of  wakeful  debate 
as  to  ways  and  means,  brought  no  solution  of 
the  dread,  problem. 

"'Tis  all  my  fault,"  cried  Constance,  in  an 
agony  of  self-reproach,  as  the  two  were  dressing; 
"but  for  me  and  our  sillv  quarrel  he  would  not 
so  have  exposed  himself.  But  for  my  foolish 
start  of  surprise  Mowatt  might  never  have  felt 
his  suspicions  confirmed." 

F3911 


"Don't,  Connie,  don't,"  cried  her  friend. 
"You  were  not  to  blame." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  was.  'Twould  never  have  hap- 
pened else.  O  that  I  had  not  been  born  a 
woman!" 

Barbara  looked  at  the  beautiful  shoulders,  pink 
as  an  apple  blossom  from  the  effects  of  their 
bath,  and  spite  of  her  woe  she  smiled. 

"I  don't  think  John  would  echo  that  wish, 
Connie,"  she  said  demurely. 

Mistress  Drake  gazed  wonderingly  at  the  girl 
for  a  moment,  then  lowered  her  eyes,  as  the 
warm  blood  dyed  her  cheeks  with  a  color  they 
had  not  known  of  late.  The  instinct  of  femi- 
ninity came  supreme  and  jubilant. 

"I  am  a  woman,  Barbara,"  she  cried;  "we 
are  two  women,  and  we  must  save  him!" 

Early  that  afternoon,  with  brave  MacAlpine 
as  a  guard,  the  girl  set  out  for  John  Brandon's 
prison,  urging  herself  to  be  strong,  and  yet  won- 
dering if  love  might  not  make  her  weak.  It 
happened,  strangely  enough,  she  thought,  that 
her  soldier-lover  had  been  placed  in  a  small 
room  in  one  of  her  uncle's  deserted  warehouses, 
and  that  there  was  some  comfort,  at  least,  in 
being  on  familiar  ground. 

Outside  the  building  a  soldier  in  a  sentry-box 
took  Constance's  pass,  and  after  a  keen  scrutiny 
of  it  summoned  an  officer  of  the  guard,  who  led 
her  along  a  winding  corridor,  at  the  end  of  which 
was  a  small  room.  Here  a  soldier,  who  was  play- 
ing solitaire  on  a  little  table,  jumped  to  his  feet 
and  saluted. 

[S9S] 


A  TENDER  TEMPTATION 

"This  lady  has  authority  to  see  the  pri  — 
Major  Brandon  —  alone,"  said  the  officer,  sig- 
nificantly. The  other  saluted  again,  and  as  the 
footsteps  of  his  superior  echoed  dismally  down 
the  corridor,  he  took  a  clanking  bunch  of  keys 
from  a  hook,  and  held  up  a  beckoning  finger  to 
Constance.  He  unlocked  a  door,  seized  a 
candle,  and  the  two  passed  through;  then  he 
carefully  locked  it  after  him  again.  They  were 
now  in  a  dingy  little  hall  at  the  end  of  which  was 
another  door. 

"May  I  ask  you  to  hold  the  candle,  miss?" 
said  the  soldier,  after  a  moment's  inspection  of 
the  keys.  "There  are  two  keys  to  each  of  the 
doors,  and  that  doesn't  make  it  easier  to  find 
the  right  one." 

It  was  on  the  point  of  Mistress  Drake's  tongue 
to  tell  the  hulking  fellow  that  she  could  have 
pointed  out  the  rignt  key  on  the  instant,  indeed, 
might  have  found  it  in  the  dark,  for  since  child- 
hood it  had  been  her  delight  to  pick  her  way 
about  the  warehouse  with  its  fascinating  rooms 
of  teas,  spices,  and  eastern  products.  She  re- 
membered that  formerly  there  had  been  one  set 
of  keys  for  general  use  and  another  for  emer- 
gencies in  her  uncle's  desk.  They  were  now 
evidently  all  on  one  bunch. 

"Here  it  is,"  growled  the  man  at  last,  thrust- 
ing a  key  into  the  lock,  and  turning  it. 

"Rap  loudly  when  you  wish  to  be  let  out," 
he  said,  and  walked  stolidly  back. 

Then  Constance  pushed  open  the  door,  and 
there  was  John  Brandon  sitting  upon  a  stool 

[398] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

reading  a  little  black-bound  book  by  the  light 
that  came  from  a  tiny  window  over  his  head. 
Had  this  out-of-way  corner  of  old  Giles  Rom- 
ney's  warehouse  been  devised  for  a  prison  cell, 
it  could  not  have  better  filled  its  role. 

In  an  instant,  as  the  lovely  face  showed  to  his 
uplifted  eyes,  Brandon  was  on  his  feet,  and 
straining  the  girl  to  his  heart.  And  she  —  mind- 
ful of  nothing  for  the  moment  but  that  love  was 
brushing  them  both  with  its  celestial  wing  — 
yielded  nerself  to  his  arms  as  if  naught  else  in 
the  world  could  matter. 

After  the  first  outburst  of  passionate  joy  they 
talked  of  more  earthly  things,  but  for  a  long 
time  shunned  any  direct  reference  to  the  ex- 
tremity in  which  they  were  placed.  Once  Con- 
stance did  bid  her  lover  hope. 

"Hope?"  he  cried  radiantly.  "I  have  love, 
which  is  brighter  than  all  else.  And  what  mat- 
ters it  now  I  know  your  heart  is  mine!" 

"It  matters  a  great  deal,  sir,"  she  protested. 
"To  find  me  and  then  to  give  me  up  so  soon. 
Does  not  that  matter?" 

"Give  you  up?"  he  exclaimed  wildly,  "why, 
I  —  oh,  I  had  forgot." 

And  silence  came  over  them,  as  the  bitter 
reality  of  the  man's  plight  stood  forth  desolate 
and  chilling.  The  girl  clung  to  him  shuddering, 
and  he  used  the  tenderest  consolation  he  knew. 

"  But,  dear,"  he  said,  gazing  into  her  troubled 
eyes,  "you  look  so  pale  —  ill?  This  strain  is 
too  much  for  you." 

[894] 


A  TENDER  TEMPTATION 

"Think  not  of  me,  but  of  yourself,"  she  pro- 
tested. "  How  are  you  to  —  to  be  saved  ?" 

%'Much  may  happen  —  before,"  he  urged 
bravely. 

"True,"  was  her  reply.  And  with  that,  and 
a  parting  kiss,  she  tried  to  be  content. 

On  her  way  out  she  found  herself  thinking 
only  of  some  means  of  escape  for  her  soldier. 
She  knew  that  his  little  grated  window  gave 
upon  the  water,  but  what  hope  was  there  in  that 
direction,  when  the  place  was  guarded,  as  it 
must  be,  to  insure  the  safety  of  the  stores  of  war 
in  the  warehouse?  No,  he  could  never  break 
out  and  keep  his  life. 

She  visited  Brandon  on  each  of  the  next  three 
days,  finding  the  guard  changed  and  a  different 
officer  in  command  daily.  But,  though  she 
gave  her  prisoner  the  sweetest  proofs  of  her  love 
and  devotion,  and  did  her  poor  best  to  inspire 
hope,  she  spoke  no  word  01  what  was  burning 
in  her  soul. 

"Have  you  told  him?"  Barbara  would  ask 
mournfully,  at  each  return,  and  she  would  re- 
ply: "No,  Bab;  I  could  not." 

Saturday  came,  and  with  it  a  warm  and  bril- 
liant sun  that  seemed  to  thaw  the  reserve  that 
held  her  tongue  in  check. 

"John,  do  you  love  me?"  she  asked. 

He  would  have  given  her  the  proof  that  lovers 
always  deem  so  essential,  but  she  raised  a  finger 
in  protest. 

*  I  know  you  do,"  she  continued  sweetly, 
" but  best  of  all?" 

[S95] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Best  of  all,  dearest." 

"Better  than  —  your  country?" 

"My    country?     There    is    no    comparison 
The  love  is  not  the  same,"  he  replied. 

"And  you  would  live  for  me?  '  she  pleaded, 
taking  his  hands  in  hers  and  fondling  them  ner- 
vously. 

"  Life  is  far  sweeter  to  me  than  ever,  and  you 
are  part  of  it." 

"Yet  you  must  —  must  die  —  in  three  days, 
unless  — " 

"Unless  what,  Constance?"  he  cried  eagerly. 
"You  have  hope.  What  have  you  heard?  I 
myself  had  hoped  that  — " 

"  What  ?     What  ?  "  she  implored. 

"Oh,  'tis  nothing,  I  fear;  but  despair  seizes 
at  straws." 

Whereupon  all  the  pent-up  passion,  the  hun- 
ger for  his  life  that  had  so  long  consumed  her, 
burst  forth  in  wild,  tumultuous  torrent  as  she 
told  her  story  and  made  her  plea.  When  her 
emotion  had  spent  itself,  she  gazed  at  him  with 
shining  eyes,  but  her  heart  sank  to  find  no  an- 
swering gleam  in  his.  Surely  he  could  not 
realize,  she  thought  desperately. 

"Do    you    understand,    John?"    she    cried. 
'You  have  only  to  entrust,  in  confidence,  to 
Percy   the   immediate   intent   of   Washington's 
campaign  for  which  he  is  preparing,  to  be  re- 
prieved —  saved!" 

But  he  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"Little  woman,  you  know  naught  of  war," 
he  said.  'You  think  only  of  me.  I  cannot 

[396] 


A  TENDER  TEMPTATION 

blame  you,  but  what  you  ask  would  make  me  — 
a  traitor." 

In  an  agony  of  dread  and  supplication  she 
threw  herself  at  his  feet,  clinging,  pleading, 
cajoling,  forcing  herself  to  anger.  But  the  calm 
eyes  never  wavered,  looking  upward  at  the  day- 
light in  the  little  window  as  if  a  bit  of  another 
world  were  framed  in  its  narrow  space.  So, 
with  poignant  grief  and  pitiable  reproaches,  she 
left  him  to  bitterness  and  despair. 

On  Sunday  no  creaking  lock  foretold  the  com- 
ing of  his  one  happiness.  Monday,  too,  had 
nearly  gone,  and  still  no  Constance.  In  all  his 
life  two  days  had  not  dragged  themselves  into 
such  an  eternity  of  waiting. 

"  Is  she  offended  at  my  refusal  to  yield  honor 
to  love?"  he  asked  himself  a  thousand  times, 
and  as  often  answered  "  No.  In  after  years  she 
will  approve.  Did  I  consent  she  would  regret 
it  all  her  life.  She  cannot  come.  Either  she 
has  been  refused  permission  or  she  is  ill." 

Late  that  afternoon  the  rattling  of  keys  out- 
side his  cell  made  the  blood  leap  from  his  heart 
in  a  great  throb  of  delight. 

"'Tis  she,"  cried  his  inmost  soul,  as  he  rose 
and  stretched  forth  his  arms.  The  key  rasped 
in  the  lock,  and  the  door  opened.  Constance 
was  not  there. 

"Egad,  sir,"  said  a  sneering  voice,  "you're 
not  very  luxurious  here,  are  you?" 

Before  the  prisoner  stood,  instead  of  his  sweet- 
heart, the  broad  and  clumsy  frame  of  Capt. 
Jack  Mowatt.  One  glance  at  his  ill-made  face 

[397] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

showed  that  he  was  in  a  state  of  sardonic  good- 
humor  that  was  more  exasperating  than  rage 
could  possibly  be.  Yet  Brandon  found  himself 
feeling  no  special  resentment.  After  all,  the 
Englishman  had  but  done  his  duty  in  this  event. 
Odd,  isn't  it,"  continued  Mowatt,  "that  I 
should  be  assigned  as  your  guard  for  the  death- 
watch,  so  to  say?" 

Brandon  smiled  scornfully. 
:*Yes,"  he  replied,  "it  is  odd  —  unless  you 
suggested  it." 

*No,  no,  'pon  honor,"  protested  the  other. 
'  'Tis  in  regular  course  of  duty.     Damme  if  I'm 
not  sorry  for  you — to  die  and  leave  such  a  pretty 
sweetheart  be  — " 

"Silence,  sirrah!"  thundered  Brandon,  with 
such  a  menace  in  his  face  and  attitude  that 
Mowatt,  who  was  unarmed,  fell  back  a  little. 
"Say  what  you  will  of  me,  gloat  over  me  as  you 
will,  but  as  you  are  an  officer  and  a  man,  leave 
women  out  of  it." 

"Oh,   as   you   please,"   growled   the   officer. 
'You're  too   grouty  for    good   company,    and 
I'll  leave  you  to  your  reflections  and  go  back  to 
pleasanter  society." 


[898] 


CHAPTER  XLII 
Toby  Gookin  Brings  News 

JOHN  BRANDON'S  thought,  as  he  found 
two  days  drag  by  with  no  sight  of  Constance, 
was  correct:  the  girl  was  ill.  The  strain  which 
she  had  so  bravely  borne  for  a  week,  together 
with  her  utter  despair  at  her  lover's  refusal  to 
purchase  his  life  at  the  terms  offered,  had  proven 
more  than  mind  and  body  could  endure,  and 
she  yielded  to  the  awful  tension. 

When  she  awoke  Sunday  morning,  she  bab- 
bled in  delirium,  and  Dr.  Gair  was  called  in 
hot  haste. 

"Intense  nervous  strain  has  overcome  her. 
I  fear  brain  fever,"  said  the  surgeon. 

As  the  calm  of  evening  fell  upon  the  house, 
however,  her  feverish  restlessness  yielded  to  the 
doctor's  potions,  and  she  slept  through  the  night. 
On  Monday  morning  her  mind  had  partially 
cleared  of  mist,  but  her  body  was  bereft  of  all 
strength.  Once  or  twice  she  tried  to  raise  her- 
self on  her  pillow,  but  fell  back  with  a  poor,  faint 
smile  of  defeat.  Thus  she  lay  all  day  without  a 
word  or  another  movement,  but  always  with  that 
unearthly  smile  upon  her  face,  as  if  she  looked 
upon  another  and  an  enchanted  world,  but  had 
no  will  to  strive  for  it. 

[399] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"  'Tis  the  worst  symptom  of  all,  Mistress  Bar- 
bara," said  Dr.  Gair,  'this  lassitude.  If  there 
is  not  a  decided  change  for  the  better  before 
another  day  I  fear  for  her  —  fear  very  much." 

Distracted  little  Barbara  watched  through 
the  weary  hours  at  her  friend's  bedside,  giving 
her  her  medicine  and  the  little  nourishment  she 
would  take,  with  tender  and  loving  care.  At 
sunset,  just  as  the  room  and  the  bed  were  touched 
by  a  golden  radiance  from  the  west,  Barbara 
saw  that  her  friend's  eyes  were  closed.  Struck 
to  the  heart  by  something  in  the  face  she  loved, 
she  tiptoed  across  the  floor  and  gazed  upon  the 
pillow.  It  was  sleep!  And,  more  wonderful 
still,  two  tears  shimmered  upon  the  long  lashes. 

"Poor  girl,  she  has  never  cried  in  all  these 
terrible  days  —  till  now,"  said  Barbara  to  her- 
self. And  she  would  have  wept  in  sympathy 
but  that  there  seemed  something  of  better  prom- 
ise in  the  omen. 

Later  she  was  relieved  by  Aunt  Tabitha,  who 
told  her  that  Thomas  Cuyler,  now  lieutenant, 
was  in  the  parlor  below.  Down  she  went  with 
the  prettiest  of  blushes,  and  excuses  for  her 
workaday  garb. 

The  soldier  had  come  to  inquire  after  Mis- 
tress Drake's  health,  he  said,  and  very  likely 
he  had.  But  had  any  one  taken  the  trouble, 
he  would  have  seen  that  it  took  a  full  hour  of 
time,  and  very  pronounced  proximity  to  Mistress 
Brandon,  to  learn  the  news. 

When  Barbara  returned,  her  patient  was  still 
asleep.  Darkness  had  come,  and  the  girl 

[400] 


TOBY  GOOKIN  BRINGS  NEWS 

lighted  a  candle,  and  by  its  feeble  light  tried  to 
fix  her  mind  upon  a  book.  But  ever  across  the 
pages  seemed  to  glow  the  faces  of  her  brother 
and  another. 

In  the  midst  of  one  of  these  somber  reveries, 
she  heard  a  harsh  whisper. 

"What  was  that?"  it  said. 

"She  is  beside  herself  again,"  thought  Bar- 
bara, as  she  turned  and  saw  Constance  sitting 
bolt  upright  in  bed. 

"What  is  it,  dear?"  she  asked  gently,  going 
to  her  charge  and  taking  her  hot  nand  with  a 
caress.  "Pray  calm  yourself." 

"I  am  calm,"  replied  Constance.  "But  why 
am  I  in  bed  ?  .  .  .  There,  do  you  hear  nothing  ?  ' 

"No,  Constance,  no." 

"Have  —  have  I  been  ill?"  was  the  wonder- 
ing question. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Has  it  been  for  long  ?  My  God,  girl,  don't 
look  at  me  like  that !  What  day  is  this  ?  " 

"Monday." 

"And  of  the  month?" 

"March  fourth." 

"Then  I  am  not  too  late,"  came  like  a  paean 
of  thanksgiving.  Barbara  stared  at  her  friend 
in  silent  wonderment,  then  started  at  the  sudden 
exclamation : 

" There !     Don't  you  hear  that ?" 

Yes,  Barbara  heard  this  time,  and  her  face 
paled  with  fear.  It  was  a  soft  scratching,  as 
of  some  hard  substance  on  glass. 

[401] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"'Tis  at  that  window,"  said  Constance- 
"Throw  back  the  shutters  and  open  it." 

The  girl  obeyed  the  stronger  will,  as  ever, 
though  sorely  alarmed  at  what  might  happen. 
Through  the  open  window  came  a  low  voice. 

"Don't  be  af eared;  'tis  me  —  Toby  Gookin." 

Never  had  words  of  human  being  sounded 
sweeter  to  the  woman  upon  the  bed. 

"Gookin!"  she  cried  joyously,  while  the 
blood  leaped  with  new  strength  from  her  heart. 
"Then  my  dream  was  forerunner  of  the  truth. 
Can  you  see  him,  Barbara?" 

"No." 

"I  am  on  the  scullery  roof,"  came  the  soft 
voice  again,  "  scratching  the  glass  with  a  branch. 
Is  all  safe  within?" 

"Say  'yes,'"  commanded  Constance. 

"But,  Constance,  you  —  in  bed!" 

"There  is  no  time  for  prudishness.  Say 
'  yes.' ' 

'Yes,"  whispered  the  little  girl  to  the  open 
window,  noting  with  satisfaction  the  while  that 
her  patient  had  sunk  back  beneath  the  bed- 
clothes. "Can  you  reach  the  window?" 

No  answering  word  came  from  the  outer  air; 
an  instant  later  a  pair  of  huge  hands  grasped 
the  window-sill  and  the  face  of  the  giant  slowly 
appeared  above  it.  Then  Toby  swung  himself 
lightly  into  the  room. 

Barbara  faced  him  with  her  finger  upon  her 
lip  and  a  motherly  little  shake  of  her  head. 

"She  is  very  ill,"  she  said.  "Do  nothing  to 
excite  her." 

[40*] 


TOBY  GOOKIN  BRINGS  NEWS 

But  Constance  could  speak  for  herself. 
'You  bring  news?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  and  seek  it,"  Toby  replied.  "Major 
Brandon  is  took,  we've  heard." 

"  It  is  true,"  was  the  solemn  reply. 

"Hez  he  be'n  tried?" 

"  Yes  —  and  sentenced  to  death  at  sunrise 
to-morrow." 

"  So  soon  ?    Then  thar '  is  no  hope  of  a  rescue." 

"What  was  your  hope?"  asked  Constance, 
as  calmly  as  if  she  were  talking  of  some  remote, 
impersonal  thing.  Barbara  was  amazed  and 
almost  offended.  How  could  one  be  so  un- 
emotional at  such  a  dreadful  crisis. 

"To-night  —  even  now,"  replied  Gookin, 
"  Washington's  troops  under  Thomas  are  march- 
in'  to  fortify  the  Heights  of  Dorchester  and  I 
had  hoped  — •" 

"They  are  to  fortify  Dorchester  Heights?" 
cried  the  girl.  "Then  the  campaign  plan  is — " 

"  Ter  drop  shot  inter  the  taouwn  fill  Howe  finds 
it  tew  hot  ter  hold  him.  The  cannonadin '  of  the 
past  tew  days  was  but  a  blind." 

"Has  there  been  cannonading?"  asked  the 
girl  of  Barbara.  The  latter  nodded.  "I  did 
not  hear  it,"  said  Constance.  Then:  "You  are 
sure  of  this  plan,  Toby?" 

"I  saw  two  thousan*  men  marchin'  fer  the 
Heights,"  was  the  sturdy  reply. 

Mistress  Drake  kept  her  own  counsel  for  a 
moment,  then  with  an  impulsive  gesture  of  com- 
mand asked  Gookin  to  go  to  the  next  room  and 
wait.  No  sooner  had  he  betaken  his  great  frame 

[403] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

through  the  door,  than  Barbara's  eyes  almost 
popped  out  of  her  pretty  head  at  what  she  saw. 
For  there,  her  coverlets  thrown  back  and  her 
dainty  feet  and  ankles  all  bare,  sat  Mistress 
Drake  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Constance  Drake,  what  would  you  do?" 
cried  the  terrified  little  nurse. 

"Help  me  to  stand,"  commanded  the  patient. 
"I'm  monstrous  weak,  I  find.  No,  stay.  Is 
that  a  decanter  of  wine?  Fill  me  a  glass  of  it." 

The  girl  did  as  she  was  bid,  and  Constance 
drained  the  glass  of  rich  old  port.  In  another 
moment  she  was  on  her  feet,  Barbara  trying  the 
while  to  press  her  back  to  the  bed. 

"Constance,  what  are  you  — " 

"I  am  going  to  save  John  Brandon,"  was  the 
triumphant  cry,  "and  there's  not  a  moment  to 
be  lost!" 


[404] 


CHAPTER  XLIII 
The  End  and  the  Means 

T  TNDER  the  stout  guardianship  of  Gookin, 
\^J  and  leaning  upon  his  muscular  arm,  Con- 
stance hurried  toward  the  water-front.  Behind 
majestically  stalked  Queue,  the  dog,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  and  paying  no 
attention  to  numerous  cur  friends  who  sought 
to  inveigle  him  into  a  romp. 

Constance  plied  the  huge  soldier  with  ques- 
tions as  to  the  details  of  the  American  plans  of 
which  he  had  previously  given  her  a  hint.  The 
facts  he  gave  she  put  carefully  away  into  her 
memory  with  as  much  of  military  precision  as 
she  could  give.  No  minutest  bit,  sne  thought, 
but  might  have  its  value. 

When  they  were  within  sight  of  the  warehouse- 
prison,  the  girl  bade  her  tall  escort  turn  back. 
The  brave  fellow  demurred. 

"I  can't  leave  yew  alone,  miss.  What  would 
Major  Brandon  say?" 

"As  I  do,  that  you  are  of  more  use  to  me  free, 
and  free  you  will  not  be  if  you  are  seen  by  the 
sentry." 

'Thar's  reason  in  that,  miss,"  Toby  agreed. 

"Besides,"  Constance  went  on,  "I'm  safe 
enough.  Queue  here  will  look  out  for  me,  won't 

[405] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

you,  good  dog?"  and  she  patted  the  head  of  the 
wise  animal,  who  licked  her  hand  for  reply. 

Gookin  smiled,  in  spite  of  himself. 

"I've  be'n  told,"  said  he,  "that  Samuel 
Adams'  dog  could  not  a-bear  a  redcoat,  and  had 
flown  at  sev'ral  soldiers." 

"True.  But  he  has  been  here  with  me  be- 
fore, and  all  I  have  to  say  as  we  pass  a  sentry  is 
*  friend,  Queue,  friend,'  and  the  little  fib  saves 
trouble." 

With  this  he  left  her,  promising  to  be  at  Dan 
MacAlpine's  in  case  of  need,  and  his  tall  figure 
was  instantly  enwrapped  in  the  shadows  of  the 
buildings. 

At  me  entrance  to  the  warehouse,  a  sentry 
she  had  not  seen  before  challenged  her.  But 
her  pass  compelled  him  to  call  a  superior  officer, 
and  for  a  moment  the  strong  oaken  door  was 
left  ajar.  From  within  came  the  sound  of  a 
loud  and  coarsely  thick  voice. 

"See  what  it  is,  sergeant,"  it  said.  "We 
can't  be  bothered.  The  game's  too  exciting." 

"Mowatt,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  with  a 
thrill  of  enmity  and  dread.  "Of  all  men  to  be 
in  command  here  to-night!" 

But  the  sergeant  who  came  out  knew  her  and 
bowed  respectfully. 

"It's  all  regular,  miss,"  he  said.  "I  believe 
you  know  your  way." 

She  nodded,  and  turned  into  the  long,  many- 
windowed  corridor.  The  soldier  on  duty  in 
the  little  room  at  the  end  was  surly,  sleepy,  and 
half-drunk,  but  he  admitted  her  without  a  word. 

[4061 


THE  END  AND  THE  MEANS 

And  then  there  came  to  John  Brandon's 
senses  the  vision  of  an  angel,  which  soon  took 
the  form  of  a  woman  of  the  earth,  his  own. 

"  Constance,"  he  cried,  as  he  folded  her  close, 
"are  you  sure  'tis  you?"  He  held  her  away 
for  a  moment,  and  gazed  full  into  her  face, 
which  in  the  dull,  flickering  candle-light  looked 
more  wan  and  pale  than  it  really  was.  "Ah,  I 
see,  I  was  right.  You  have  been  ill." 

'Yes,  John,  but  time  is  too  precious  to  talk 
of  it.  You  know  what  night  it  is  ?" 

"Am  I  likely  to  have  forgotten  it?"  he  asked 
solemnly. 

"And  what  comes  to-morrow?" 

He  gravely  bowed  his  head. 

"John,"  she  whispered,  with  thrilling  in- 
tensity, "  Gookin  succeeded  in  entering  town 
to-night!" 

The  prisoner  straightened  into  an  attitude  of 
joy,  and  his  eyes  flasned. 

"Gookin?"  he  exclaimed,  "then  there  is  hope 
that- 

"  No,"  she  said  gently,  "  there  is  no  possibility 
of  rescue  —  yet.  There  must  be  delay  —  to- 
morrow. You  understand  ?" 

'Yes  —  but  how ?"  he  urged. 

"Moments  are  like  hours  to-night.  I  will 
explain  o.uickly.  Toby  says  he  saw  a  detach- 
ment of  Washington's  army  start  for  - 

"  Dorchester  Heights  ?"  he  supplemented  in- 
stantly. 

Her  face  lighted  with  triumph.  "  Then  I  was 
right.  That  was  what  you  knew?"  she  said. 

[407] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  replied,  with  feverish  haste. 

"Then  you  must  give  this  information  to 
Percy/' 

She  spoke  with  a  fine  air  of  conviction  and 
authority,  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"It  would  be  trea —  Why,  it  is  too  late. 
They  will  know  it  soon  themselves,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  but  not  to-night.  If  you  speak  you 
will  have  fulfilled  your  part  of  the  agreement 
with  Percy,  and  he  must  —  he  will  from  per- 
sonal friendliness  —  grant  the  reprieve." 

The  condemned  man  threw  himself  upon  his 
stool  and  bowed  his  head  sadly.  His  words 
came  slowly,  and  with  the  blank  tonelessness  of 
despair. 

*  Don't  you  see,  can't  you  realize  that  I  can- 
not do  this  thing,  much  less  now  that  the  enter- 
prise is  almost  accomplished?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment. 
'You  refuse,  then?"  she  asked. 

"I  must,  dear,"  he  answered  firmly. 

She  stepped  to  where  he  sat,  and  bent  over 
and  took  his  face  in  her  hands.  Then,  full 
upon  the  lips,  she  kissed  him. 

'You  are  obstinate,  heartless,  unkind,"  she 
cried,  "but  —  I  love  you  all  the  more  for  it!  I 
must  save  you  —  some  other  way." 

And  without  another  word  she  knocked  loudly 
for  the  soldier  on  guard  and  was  gone. 

Out  in  the  streets  she  hurried  from  the  prison 
at  such  a  pace  that  the  wondering  Queue  had  to 
break  from  his  accustomed  stride  and  trot  slowly 
to  keep  his  nose  within  reach  of  her  hand. 

[4081 


THE  END  AND  THE  MEANS 

As  she  reached  Queen  Street,  she  was  startled 
by  a  sudden  burst  of  light  far  behind  the  Beacon 
Hill,  followed  by  the  sullen  boom  of  an  explo- 
sion. From  beyond  Charlestown  Neck,  and 
all  along  the  region  between  that  point  and 
Cambridge,  came  other  signs  of  a  cannonade. 
She  stopped  sud  lenly,  halted  by  a  dreadful  fear. 

"Is  it  too  lale,  as  John  said?"  she  asked  her- 
self. "Have  they  begun?" 

She  turned  her  eyes  toward  the  south  where 
lay  the  Dorchester  Heights,  and  watched  in- 
tently. No!  Not  a  flame  lighted  the  darkness 
that  brooded  over  the  place,  not  a  sound  from 
that  quarter.  The  firing  was  surely  a  feint  to 
attract  attention  elsewhere.  With  hope  again 
high  in  her  breast,  she  hastened  toward  Percy's 
quarters. 

Within  earshot  of  the  house,  she  bade  Queue 
lie  down  in  a  dark  corner.  The  good  dog  looked 
at  her  as  if  to  suggest  that  he  might  be  needed 
elsewhere,  but  sne  shook  her  head.  "We'll 
risk  no  trouble  with  soldiers  here,  old  fellow," 
she  said.  "  Lie  there  till  I  call  you." 

She  found  that  Percy  was  within  and  that  she 
might  have  speech  with  him.  But  she  heard 
the  voices  of  other  officers  with  him,  much  to 
her  chagrin. 

"I  will  confess  'tis  all  a  riddle  to  me,"  Lord 
Percy  was  saying  as  she  entered,  "but  this  use- 
less cannonading  means  something  more  than  a 
desire  to  burn  powder.  . .  .  Ah,  Mistress  Drake." 

"  I  must  speak  with  you,  at  once,  alone,"  said 
the  girl  earnestly. 

[400] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

The  Earl  bowed  with  his  unfailing  courtesy, 
and  led  the  way  to  an  adjoining  room. 

"I  had  expected  you  days  ago,  Mistress 
Drake,"  he  said.  "But  the  very  lateness  of 
this  visit  must  mean  — " 

"I  overheard  your  last  words,  my  Lord,"  re- 
turned the  girl.  "This  cannon  ding  does  mean 
something.' 

"Undoubtedly, — but  what?  Has  Major 
Brandon  yielded  to  your  solicitation?" 

"I  hastened  here  at  the  very  first  possible 
moment  to  tell  you.  The  movement  intended 
by  Washington  as  the  next  step  in  his  campaign 
is  the  fortifying  of  Dorchester  Heights!" 

"Whe-e-ew,  whistled  the  Earl.  "He  is  a 
general,  then.  But  the  details.  Major  Brandon 
will  give  them,  I  suppose?"  and  he  caught  up 
his  cloak  from  a  chair. 

The  movement  was  not  lost  upon  Constance. 
In  it  she  saw  a  deadly  menace  to  all  her  plans, 
for  a  few  words  between  Percy  and  John  Bran- 
don would  upset  everything.  Suddenly  she 
swayed  as  if  about  to  fall. 

;<  Your  pardon,  my  Lord,"  she  said  weakly, 
"but  I  have  been  ill  —  and  I  am  fatigued." 

"Pray  forgive  me,"  he  replied,  with  real 
solicitude.  '  This  cannonading  has  quite  up-( 
set  us.  and  I  did  not  think.  Be  seated,  I  beg." 

"I — I  have  much  more  to  tell,"  she  began. 
Then,  after  a  brief  silence,  she  went  on  to  give 
the  soldier  all  the  details  as  to  the  Dorchester 
Heights  plan  that  she  had  had  from  innocent 
Toby  Gookin. 

[410J 


THE  END  AND  THE  MEANS 

Percy  listened  as  if  spellbound. 

"This  is  most  valuable,  Mistress  Drake,"  he 
exclaimed,  when  she  had  ended.  "I  shall  re- 
port it  at  once  to  the  council." 

The  girl  rose,  and  put  an  appealing  hand 
lightly  upon  his  arm. 

"But,  my  Lord,"  she  protested  gently, 
"Major  Brandon;  it  is  late  and  —  and  — ' 

"  Y  es,  it  is  to-morrow  that  the  sentence  was  to 
have  been  executed,"  said  the  Earl  kindly. 
"The  pardon,  of  course,  cannot  be  completed 
till  we  learn  the  truth.  Oh,  I  do  not  doubt  you, 
but  all  is  fair  in  war,  and  I  should  not  blame 
Major  Brandon  if  —  But  there,  I  can  at  least 
set  you  at  rest." 

Saying  which,  he  went  to  his  desk  and  wrote. 
Sanding  the  paper  carefully,  he  handed  it  to  the 
girl,  and  rang  a  bell. 

"I  —  I  cannot  see  the  words,"  said  Constance 
wearily.  Percv  smiled. 

"I'm  an  indifferent  writer  at  best,"  he  replied, 
"and  by  candle-light  the  poorest.  But,  tis  a 
reprieve  in  due  form  for  two  weeks.  Before 
then  all  will  be  settled." 

"My  compliments  to  Lieutenant  Charlton," 
he  said  to  the  orderly  who  answered  his  call, 
"and  give  him  this  at  once." 

The  soldier  saluted  gravely,  but  with  an  eye 
upon  the  beautiful  woman,  who,  his  quick  in- 
stinct told  him,  was  somehow  concerned  in  the 
paper. 

'May  —  may    I    accompany    him?"    Con- 
stance asked. 

[411] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Why, —  yes,  'tis  but  natural.  Certainly," 
he  replied  heartily.  "Orderly,  escort  Mistress 
Drake  to  Lieutenant  Charlton  and  then  to 
Major  Brandon's  —  quarters."  He  could  not 
bring  himself  to  use  the  harsher  word  before 
this  distressed  girl.  "You  will  of  course  wish 
to  convey  the  news  yourself.  Good-night." 

Across  the  little  space  between  them  Con- 
stance glided  quickly,  and  took  the  Earl's  shapely 
hand  in  her  own.  With  a  sudden  impulse  of 
thanksgiving  she  raised  it  to  her  lips,  then  ran 
from  the  room.  My  Lord  stood  looking  after 
her  with  thoughtful  eyes. 

"Would  I  had  found  a  wife  like  that,"  he 
murmured.  "Pshaw!  what  am  I  saying?" 
And  he  strode  off  to  the  council. 

Lieutenant  Charlton  himself  answered  the 
orderly's  knock,  and  glanced  at  the  order. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  shortly. 

"It  is  quite  —  quite  correct?"  asked  Con- 
stance. 

'  Yes,  Mistress  Drake.  One  moment,  please," 
he  continued,  as  he  drew  her  out  of  the  orderly's 
hearing.  "Do  not  think  that  in  any  event  I 
should  have  had  any  share  in  the  intended  — 
event  to-morrow.  'Tis  only  my  duty  to  see  that 
this  order  is  enforced." 

When  the  girl  and  the  orderly  reached  the 
warehouse,  it  was  Mowatt  who  admitted  them 
and  who  conducted  Constance  through  the  cor- 
ridor without  a  word.  She  hardly  knew  whether 
his  silence  or  his  speech  were  the  more  forbid- 
ding. But  she  dismissed  him  quickly  from  her 

[412] 


THE  END  AND  THE  MEANS 

thoughts  as  she  sped  along  with  her  message  of 
good  cheer.  To  ner  surprise,  she  found  that 
Queue  had  quietly  followed  her,  no  one  having 
thought  to  say  him  nay. 

The  guard  in  the  little  room  was  drunker 
and  more  surly  than  before,  but  he  also  was 
more  stupid,  and  he  did  not  even  notice  the  dog, 
whose  mistress  silently  pointed  to  a  place  under 
the  table,  which  place  he  took  obediently  after  a 
furtive  and  ill-natured  sniff  at  the  man's  legs. 

With  breathless  joy,  and  an  eagerness  to  es- 
cape all  questioning,  the  girl  told  Brandon  that 
death  was  to  be  cheated  on  the  morrow,  at  least, 
and  that  a  fortnight's  reprieve  had  been  given 
him. 

"I  cannot  stop  to  tell  you  more,  dearest,"  she 
said.  "There  is  yet  much  to  be  done  before 
you  are  safe,  and  I  am  almost  exhausted." 

After  one  passionate  embrace,  she  knocked 
at  the  door,  and  was  let  out  —  very  quickly,  she 
noted.  When  she  came  to  the  candle-lit  room, 
she  saw  that  Mowatt  was  acting  as  turnkey.  The 
drunken  guard  had  gone. 

She  trembled  with  alarm,  for  on  the  brutal 
face  of  the  captain  was  that  which  womanhood 
knows  so  well  how  to  interpret.  Summoning 
all  her  strength,  she  started  for  the  door  that  led 
into  the  corridor.  Mowatt  seized  one  of  her 
wrists  and  gripped  it  fiercely. 

"Not  so  fast,  Mistress  Drake,"  he  cried 
thickly.  "I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

"Well,  sir,  be  brief,"  she  commanded,  facing 
him  proudly,  yet  wishing  not  to  anger  him  need- 

[413] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

lessly.     The   officer   leeringly   swept   her   body 
with  his  eyes  and  smiled  the  smile  of  a  satyr. 

"So  you  come  to  visit  your  lover  o'  nights, 
eh?"  he  exclaimed.  "But  'tis  his  last  night, 
and  you'll  need  another." 

rlease    release    me,"    pleaded    Constance. 
"  You  are  hurting  my  wrist.  ' 

For  answer  he  pulled  her  beautiful  head  close 
to  his  own. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  my  dear  —  I  want 
to  —  love  you." 

With  one  sweep  of  his  left  arm,  he  knocked 
the  candle  from  the  table  to  the  floor,  where  it 
sputtered  for  a  moment  and  went  out.  Then 
in  the  darkness  he  seized  her  round,  delicate 
body  and  pressed  it  close. 

With  an  agonized  struggle  the  girl  writhed 
herself  free  from  the  hideous  embrace,  and 
groped  her  way  to  the  door  of  John  Brandon's 
cell. 

"Help,  help!"  she  screamed,  pounding  upon 
it  frantically.  "  Mo  watt  - 

Then  her  lips  were  closed  by  a  heavy  hand, 
as  the  furious  soldier  found  her  again.  She 
could  hear  her  lover  within,  tearing  futilely  at 
the  lock  and  shouting  threats  of  vengeance  upon 
the  man  he  prayed  God  for  the  instant  power  to 
kill.  The  bestial  clasp  tightened  once  more  on 
her  body.  Oh,  for  death  itself  rather  than 
this.  .  .  .  Was  there  no  human  power  to  save  a 
defenceless  woman  ? 

But  what  was  this  rush  of  something  through 
the  dark?  The  launching  of  a  great  body 

[414] 


THE  END  AND  THE  MEANS 

through  the  air,  brushing  her  very  face  in  its 
course  ?  The  hoarse  yell  of  agony  from  a  man, 
and  the  awful  growling,  crunching,  worrying  of 
an  animal  upon  something  soft,  yet  bony  ? 

"  Queue !  Oh,  thank  God,  thank  God ! "  cried 
the  girl. 

Mechanically,  she  picked  up  the  bunch  of 
keys  that  had  fallen  from  Mowatt's  wrist  to  her 
feet.  For  a  moment  a  wild  thought  came  to 
her  mind.  But  footsteps  were  heard  down  the 
corridor,  and  she  shook  her  head. 

"  'Twould  be  useless,"  she  told  herself.  "  The 
sentries  would  stop  him.  .  .  .  But,"  she  thought, 
there  are  two  keys  to  each  of  these  doors.  Per- 
haps they  — " 

Swiftly  she  broke  the  string  that  held  the  keys 
together,  and  thrust  into  her  bosom  the  two  pe- 
culiar ones  she  knew  to  be  duplicates  of  others. 
By  this  time  soldiers  with  lanterns  burst  into 
the  little  room,  Charlton  in  the  rear  with  an 
official  paper  in  his  hand.  At  the  sight  of  Mowatt 
pinned  to  the  floor  by  the  huge  dog,  whose  jaws 
still  held  his  throat  like  a  vice,  he  started  back 
in  amazement. 

"In  heaven's  name,  what's  this,  Mistress 
Drake?"  he  cried. 

Constance  smiled  calmly. 

"This  —  fellow  insulted  me,"  she  said,  "and 
my  dog  —  well,  you  see  what  happened.  Come, 
Queue,  home!" 


[415] 


CHAPTER  XLIV 
"  You  Alone  Can  Save  Him" 

AFTER  a  night  of  calm  and  dreamless  sleep, 
the  first  for  very  many  nights,  Constance 
came  down  stairs  with  a  light  step  and  a  heart 
almost  at  peace.  In  the  hall  she  found  her 
uncle  with  a  face  as  radiant  as  that  of  the  ruddy 
old  moon  in  the  great  clock  in  the  corner. 

"Egad,  Connie,  they've  done  it,  they've  done 
it!"  he  cried,  catching  the  girl  in  his  arms  and 
implanting  a  hearty  smack  first  upon  one  cheek, 
then  upon  the  other,  and  finally  upon  her  rosy 
mouth.  And  with  that  he  held  her  at  arm's 
length  and  whirled  her  about,  the  while  dancing 
from  one  foot  to  the  other  as  he  had  not  legged 
it  these  twenty  years,  singing  a  few  bars  of  "  Yan- 
kee Doodle  "  as  an  accompaniment  to  the  won- 
drous proceeding. 

After  a  bit  of  this,  the  astonished  Constance 
was  about  to  ask  her  uncle  if  he  had  suddenly 
gone  insane,  when  her  Aunt  Tabitha  bustled 
into  the  hall,  her  face  also  glowing  with  satisfac- 
tion. Then  old  Giles  seized  his  wife's  hand 
and  made  her  take  one  of  her  niece's,  and 
around  went  the  three  to  the  complete  scandal 
izing  of  Methuselah,  the  cat,  who  watched  this 

[416] 


"YOU  ALONE  CAN  SAVE  HIM" 

indecorous  scene  from  a  chair,  his  great  yellow 
eyes  expanding  with  wonderment. 

At  last  a  twinge  of  gout  warned  old  Romney 
that  his  dancing  days  were  long  since  over,  and 
the  whirling  stopped  abruptly.  Constance  re- 
garded her  uncle  anxiously 

"Now,"  she  said,  "perhaps  you'll  explain 
what  all  this  —  this  — " 

"This  festivity  means,  eh?"  interrupted  the 
old  fellow,  cheerily.  "Well,  girl,  if  you'll  go 
upstairs  and  look  Dorchester  way  you'll  find 
out.  The  boys  have  done  it,  bless  'em!" 

'The  Heights  are  —  are  fortified,  then?" 

"Fortified?  They're  British-proof,  girl.  Wash- 
ington's men  have  done  more  in  a  night  than 
Howe's  whole  army  could  have  done  in  a 
month." 

"What  will  happen  now?"  she  asked  se- 
riously. 

"Happen  now?"  snorted  her  uncle.  "Howe 
will  have  to  go  out  and  clean  off  that  hill,  or  quit 
the  town  forever." 

And  so  on,  with  much  unseemly  mirth  and  a 
deal  of  sarcastic  advice  to  the  absent  General 
Howe,  until  Constance  went  to  the  breakfast 
room.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  girl  was  less 
responsive  to  his  hilarious  mood  than  might  have 
been  expected,  and  he  said  as  much  to  Mistress 
Tabitha. 

"Perhaps  the  girl,  like  me,  has  thought  that 
this  taking  of  the  Heights  of  Dorchester  is  but 
the  presage  to  the  bombardment  of  the  town," 
she  ventured  gently. 

[417] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"How  like  you  women,"  growled  Giles,  as  he 
put  on  his  hat  and  coat,  took  his  trusty  cane  and 
ambled  out  of  doors  to  see  if  he  could  still  find 
left  some  Bostonians  who  would  exult  with  him, 
and  care  not  a  rap  for  the  consequences. 

Constance  went  forth  to  her  daily  visit  to  Bran- 
don to  find  the  streets  full  of  excited  people,  and 
an  air  of  grim  terror  over  everything.  Her  first 
thought  was  to  see  the  fortifications  over  on 
Dorchester  Heights,  and  when  she  reached  a 
spot  where  she  had  a  clear  view  she  stopped  and 
gazed  across  the  water.  Her  heart  swelled  with 
pride  and  joy  as  she  saw  the  long  lines  of  frown- 
ing earthworks  crowning  the  eminence,  with 
here  and  there  the  round  mouth  of  cannon  gap- 
ing from  an  embrasure.  The  town  and  the 
ships  of  war  were  at  the  mercy  of  the  American 
army. 

And  the  town  knew  it,  for  crowds  of  its  citi- 
zens, as  upon  the  day  of  the  fight  at  Bunker  Hill, 
had  already  sought  out  the  high  places  and  the 
housetops,  expecting  a  repetition  of  the  spec- 
tacle of  that  fight.  Soldiers  were  marching  to 
the  water's  edge,  whence,  report  had  it,  they 
would  embark  at  once  and  cross  over  for  a  night 
assault  upon  the  works,  after  a  rendezvous  at 
Castle  William. 

But  to  the  girl  there  was  a  still  more  impor- 
tant matter  than  this  silent  threat  of  death  and 
destruction,  and  she  turned  toward  the  goal  of 
all  her  hopes  and  prayers,  buffeting  the  strong 
wind  that  had  sprung  up  since  early  morning 
with  a  pure  delight  in  conquering  its  opposition. 

[418] 


"YOU  ALONE  CAN  SAVE  HIM" 

She  had  almost  reached  the  warehouse  when 
she  thought  of  Mowatt,  and  her  cheeks  flamed, 
even  though  there  were  none  to  see  them.  Might 
he  not  be  there  again,  she  wondered,  and  what 
could  she  do  if  he  were  ? 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,"  she  reassured  herself. 
"None  has  been  there  two  days  in  succession." 

The  officer  of  the  guard,  to  her  great  relief, 
happened  to  be  Lieutenant  Cuyler,  wno  received 
her  with  diffident  politeness. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Mistress  Drake,"  he  said, 
"but  you  cannot  see  Major  Brandon." 

"Why  not?"  she  asked  wonderingly.  "You 
have  my  pass." 

"Believe  me,  my  dear  Mistress  Drake,  I 
would  another  had  my  duty  to  perform,  but  this 
pass  has  been  revoked,  and  —  you  will  pardon 
me,  I  know  —  I  —  I  —  have  orders  to  retain  it." 

"There  must  be  some  mistake,"  cried  the 
girl  warmly.  "  Who  gave  the  orders  ?  " 

"Lord  Percy  issuea  them,  I  believe." 

"Lord  Percy?  Ah,  I  understand.  He  is  to 
be  released,  and  I  have  no  need  for  it.  I'll  to 
him  at  once." 

And  away  she  went,  disappointed,  vexed, 
puzzled,  but  still  with  the  hope  she  had  expressed 
to  Cuyler  urging  her  feet  to  greater  and  greater 
speed.  But  the  officer  shook  his  head  as  she 
disappeared. 

"  I  fear  she  is  very  far  from  the  truth,"  he  said 
to  himself. 

At  Percy's  quarters  Lord  Rawdon,  who  came 
forth  to  meet  her,  said  that  the  Earl  was  at  a 

[419] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

council  of  war  and  could  see  no  one.  She  would 
have  waited,  but  the  officer  dissuaded  her  on 
the  ground  that  it  would  be  useless.  So  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  home,  where  she 
impatiently  chafed  through  the  weary  hours, 
torn  by  anxiety. 

Twice  in  the  afternoon  she  went  back  to 
Percy's,  accompanied  by  Dan  MacAlpine.  The 
second  time  they  told  her  that  the  Earl  had  left 
town,  as  he  was  to  command  the  embarking 
troops.  Her  face  showed  her  pitiable  discour- 
agement, and  Dan  tried  to  cheer  her. 

"  Divil  a  bit  o'  good  it'll  do  thim  to  thry  and 
rache  Castle  William  in  this  wind,"  he  remarked 
sagely,  and,  indeed,  he  was  a  good  prophet,  for 
the  gale  was  now  raging  over  the  housetops  and 
swirling  around  the  corners  as  if  it  were  in  com- 
plete league  with  the  Yankees,  and  were  even 
making  a  crude  attempt  to  whistle  their  now- 
popular  national  air.  The  harbor  was  feathered 
with  white-caps,  and  the  boats  dared  not  set 
forth. 

Next  morning  the  wind  yelled  as  vociferously 
as  ever,  and  rain  now  fell  in  torrents,  to  the  un- 
utterable disgust  of  the  British,  who,  through 
it  all,  could  see  that  the  enemy  over  on  the  hill 
was  strengthening  his  position  with  more  breast- 
works, guns,  and  men.  The  very  devil  was  in 
league  with  the  rebels,  they  said. 

Thursday  saw  no  slackening  of  the  terrific 
storm,  and  MacAlpine,  who  had  noted  that 
Percy  had  at  last  returned  to  his  quarters,  has- 
tened to  the  Romney  mansion,  drenched  to  the 

[420] 


"YOU  ALONE  CAN  SAVE  HIM" 

skin,  to  tell  the  news  to  Constance.  She  was 
for  going  at  once  to  the  Earl,  but  Dan  added 
his  protests  to  those  of  the  family,  and  convinced 
her  of  the  folly. 

"You'd  kitch  yer  death,  darlint,"  he  averred. 
"Besoides,  phwat's  the  use?  The  officers  have 
enough  to  think  av  to  think  how  to  get  out  av  the 
trap  they're  in  without  botherin  with  John 
Brandon." 

"But  this  suspense  is  terrible,"  she  moaned. 
"Besides,  what  will  John  think  of  me?" 

The  Irishman  scratched  his  curly  pate  for  a 
while,  then  chuckled  loudly. 

"  Why  don't  yer  sind  him  a  scrap  av  a  letther  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"I  didn't  think  of  that,"  replied  the  girl 
brightly.  "I'll  begin  at  once.  .  .  .  But  will  tney 
let  me?" 

"  Let  ye  ?  Indade  they'll  not,  but  Oi'll  take  it 
to  him. 

"  Will  they  let  you?" 

"Begorra,  Oi'll  not  ask  their  lave.  He's  in 
the  spice  room  of  the  ould  warehouse,  ye  tould 
me?'* 

She  nodded. 

"  Well,  Oi  know  it  and  its  windy  like  me  own 
armory.  It'll  be  hard  luck  but  Oi  can — foind 
a  boat  and  a  shtone  - 

"And  what  then?"  asked  Constance,  her  eyes 
dancing  with  excitement. 

"  O'ill  wrap  the  shtone  in  the  note  and  if  Oi  can't 
hit  that  windy  Oi'm  no  Oirishman." 

"O,  Dan!"  and  she  hugged  the  old  fellow 

T4211 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

as  ecstatically  as  if  he  had  already  accomplished 
the  feat,  and  had  come  back  with  news  of  it. 

"But  whist,"  he  added,  rubbing  his  chin 
dubiously,  "perhaps  ye'd  betther  write  two 
notes.  Oi  moight  not  hit  the  firsht  toime." 

That  night  John  Brandon  was  surprised  to 
hear  the  soft  splashing  of  oars  under  his  little 
window,  and  startled  a  moment  later  to  find  that 
a  small  stone  had  come  sailing  through  the  small 
opening  into  his  cell.  But  when  he  saw  the  bit 
of  paper  tied  to  it  he  knew  and  was  rejoiced. 

Early  next  morning  the  ex-fencer  came  to  the 
Romney  house,  his  round  face  beaming  with 
satisfaction. 

"Great  news!"  he  cried.  "The  soldiers  are 
goin'  to  git  out!" 

"Get  out?"  echoed  Constance,  excitedly. 
"You  mean—" 

*Yis,  jist  thot.  Git  out,  run  away,  lave  the 
town,  —  evacooate's  the  military  terrm.  Thot's 
the  decision  av  the  council  av  war.  An'  the 
Tories  are  in  a  terrible  shtew  about  it." 

Losing  not  a  moment,  Constance  hurried 
away  to  find  Lord  Percy.  The  situation  was 
more  perplexing  than  ever,  and  must  be  cleared 
up.  Here  was  her  lover,  whom  suddenly  she 
was  forbidden  to  see,  under  a  reprieve,  it  was 
true,  but  with  a  sentence  of  death  still  hanging 
over  his  head.  What  would  be  the  effect  of  this 
evacuation  upon  him?  Would  his  fate  come 
suddenly  or  would  he  be  set  free  ?  The  terrible 
uncertainty  nearly  drove  her  mad  as  she  almost 
ran  through  the  streets. 

[422] 


"YOU  ALONE  CAN  SAVE  HIM" 

On  every  side  were  the  evidences  of  Tory 
panic  and  the  wild  desire  to  save  property. 
From  out  the  well-known  houses  of  Koyalists 
men  were  hurling  household  goods  upon  the 
sidewalks,  while  their  owners  fretted  and 
fumed  in  the  vain  attempt  to  hire  transportation 
to  the  water-front.  Snops  were  being  dis- 
mantled and  their  contents  piled  high  in  the 
streets,  where  soldiers  looted  them  to  their 
hearts'  content.  Everywhere  men  were  gath- 
ered in  excited  groups  talking  of  the  impending 
calamity,  their  eyes  ever  and  anon  turning  to 
the  silent  guns  on  Dorchester  Heights. 

Distracted  Constance  found  to  her  bitter  grief 
that  the  Earl  could  not  see  her,  but  would  grant 
her  a  few  moments  on  Saturday,  an  hour  before 
noon.  At  the  appointed  time  she  was  in  Percy's 
presence,  her  heart  beating  wildly,  her  eyes 
piteously  sunken.  The  soldier  kindly  bade 
her  sit. 

"I  have  delayed  seeing  you,  Mistress  Drake," 
he  began,  "in  hope  that  I  might  have  good  news 
for  you." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  strange 
and  hard. 

"But  tell  me,"  he  continued,  "whose  scheme 
was  it  that  won  Major  Brandon's  reprieve?  I 
feel  sure  it  was  not  his." 

"Why,  whose  could  it  have  been,  but  his?" 
she  ventured  blindly,  wondering,  fearing,  almost 
beside  herself  at  this  new  turn. 

"Well,  it  might  have  been, — for  instance, 
yours.  .  .  .  Your  face  tells  me  that  I  am  right. 

[4*3] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

But  how,  pray,  did  you  secure  the  information 
all  our  men  seemed  powerless  to  obtain?" 

"That  I  cannot  say,"  the  girl  replied  coldly. 
The  tall  form  of  brave  Toby  Gookin  seemed 
almost  beside  her,  telling  her  to  be  strong.  Not 
for  anything  human  would  she  betray  his  secret. 
The  Earl  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"Ah,  very  well,"  he  replied.  "Twas  only 
personal  curiosity.  Mistress  Drake, -- pardon 
me,  but  you  are  the  bravest  woman  I  ever  knew, 
and  I'll  save  Major  Brandon  —  if  I  can." 

"If  you  can?"  she  stammered,  a  dull  horror 
clutching  at  her  heart,  all  the  little  color  of  her 
face  flying  back  in  despair.  'You  who  are  so 
powerful?" 

"But  not  all  powerful,"  he  said  gently.  "And 
just  now  the  commander-in-chief  and  I  —  but 
let  that  pass.  The  council  of  officers  has  de- 
cided that  Brandon's  reprieve  was  secured  by 
a  mere  trick,  and  that  there  is  no  obligation  to 
complete  the  bargain  made  with  you  on  his  be- 
half/' 

"  Then  he  —  he  must  —  She  could  not  com- 
plete the  terrible  sentence. 

"  Die  ?  No.  No,  that  has  not  been  decreed. 
I  have  secured  delay.  Could  it  be  proved  that 
Brandon  gave  the  information  without  knowing 
the  time  that  the  heights  were  to  be  fortified  — 
But  no,  that  would  name  him  traitor." 

A  traitor!  Ah,  that  was  what  John  Brandon 
had  not  been  and  would  not  be,  no,  not  for  all 
the  dear  delights  of  life  and  love  and  happiness. 
She  rose  and  held  up  her  head  proudly.  She 


"YOU  ALONE  CAN  SAVE  HIM" 

could  almost  glory  in  his  death  itself,  with  honor 
safe.     But  she  must  listen  to  Percy's  words. 

"Come  to  me,  if  you  hear  nothing  from  me, 
on  Tuesday  next,"  he  said.  And  she  left  his 
kindly  presence  with  something  like  strength 
in  her  soul. 


Lord  Percy  was  very  grave  when  she  was  ad- 
mitted to  his  office  at  the  appointed  time,  and 
the  girl's  instincts  took  quick  alarm.  But  she 
had  become  almost  benumbed  by  the  brooding 
horror  of  the  many  days  of  exaltation  and  de- 
pression, and  now  she  felt  that  she  could  bear 
any  stroke  of  fate  with  silence. 

'  I  wish  to  be  as  kind  as  I  can,"  said  the  Earl, 
"but  you  must  know  the  truth.  The  council 
of  officers  has  outvoted  me.  The  best  I  have 
been  able  to  do  is  to  secure  the  continuation  of 
the  reprieve  I  personally  promised." 

"  It  is  the  worst,  then  ?  '  she  asked,  without  a 
trace  of  emotion  in  her  voice.  The  soldier 
looked  at  her  with  the  admiration  he  always  felt 
for  bravery,  and  noted  that  she  stood  up  as 
straight  as  a  young  sapling.  It  grieved  him  to 
think  that  he  must  bring  the  storm  that  would 
bend  and  perhaps  break  it.  But  there  was  no 
escape. 

xes,"  he  answered  slowly.  "He  must  die 
on  the  morning  of  the  nineteenth.  If  we  are 
ready  to  evacuate  the  town  before  that  date,  he 
will  be  taken  aboard  one  of  the  ships." 

As  he  turned  to  his  desk  to  write  upon  a  slip 

[425] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

of  official  paper,  Constance  felt  that  she  was  in 
his  presence  for  the  last  time,  that  no  more  would 
he  or  could  he  offer  help  from  his  chivalrous 
and  noble  desire  to  make  ner  happy.  Her  eyes 
filled  as  she  looked  at  his  fine  heaa  bent  low  to 
his  pen.  He  arose  and  came  to  her. 

"We  shall  sail  on  Friday  if  the  wind  serves," 
he  said,  "but  not  before.  I  can  do  but  one 
thing  more  for  you.  This  pass  will  admit  you  to 
say  farewell.  There  can  be  but  one  interview. 
You  must  make  the  best  use  of  it." 

For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  wondering 
whether  or  not  to  go  on.  "  Yes,  'tis  best  that  I 
tell  her,"  he  thought. 

"Mistress  Drake,"  he  said,  his  voice  vibrant 
with  unutterable  sympathy,  "  it  is  well  that  you 
should  know  that  this  time  his  sentence  is  not 
to  be  shot,  but  to  be  — " 

"Hanged!" 

It  was  but  the  parody  of  a  word,  a  ghastly 
whisper  that  a  ghost  might  fitly  have  uttered. 
Percy  could  only  bow  his  head  in  distress. 

"Here  is  the  pass,"  he  said,  after  a  little. 
"Heaven  bless  and  comfort  you.  You  alone 
can  —  save  him." 

She  knelt  at  his  feet  like  some  pure  young 
virgin  before  a  figured  saint,  and  seized  his  hand 
in  both  of  hers.  Then,  pressing  her  lips  upon 
it  in  an  agony  of  gratitude,  she  rose  and  hurried 
from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XLV 
The  Troops  Depart 

"A/DTI  alone  can  save  him,"  was  the  solemn 

J[  refrain  that  chanted  itself  into  Constance's 
brain,  that  seemed  sung  by  the  March  winds, 
that  fitted  the  cries  of  pillagers  as  she  hurried 
through  the  streets,  seeing  nothing,  knowing 
nothing  except  that  mournful  song,  until  at  last 
some  magic  brought  her  footsteps  to  the  ware- 
house where  her  heart's  own  lay  in  his  hopeless 
cell.  Then  she  suddenly  realized  the  presence 
of  the  paper  she  held  clutched  tightly  in  her  hand. 
But  she  shook  her  head. 

"No,  I  must  not  use  this  now,"  she  murmured. 
"It  would  be  useless  until — " 

And  then  that  direful  chant  again,  rising 
higher  and  higher  in  her  very  ears,  till  it  seemed 
a  challenge  now,  more  than  the  refrain  of  de- 
spair. 

"You  alone  can  save  him,"  was  its  burden, 
with  a  new  rhythm  of  possibilty  that  made  her 
fly  rather  than  walk  to  the  old  armory  of  her 
faithful  Dan  MacAlpine.  Her  face  seemed  to 
him  to  have  upon  it  a  message  of  hope. 

"He  is  saved,  darlint?"  asked  the  old  soldier 
cheerily. 

"Not  yet,  Dan,  but  he  will  be." 
4*1 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

"Will  be?"  returned  the  other,  caressing  his 
chin.  "Till  me  the  daytails." 

"Toby — Gookin — he  has  not — not  gone?" 
she  exclaimed  eagerly. 

"Indade,  no.  .  .  .  Toby,  ye  shpalpane,  come 
forth.  There's  a  lady  to  see  ye,  sorr." 

And  from  an  inner  room  the  great  figure  of  the 
friend  of  John  Brandon  emerged  carefully. 
Then  to  the  two  breathless  listeners  Constance 
told  of  her  last  interview  with  Lord  Percy,  and 
of  the  paper  he  had  given  her.  Old  Dan's 
jovial  face  grew  sober  as  the  story  progressed, 
and  he  shook  his  head  slowly.  Gookin,  deeply 
interested,  hung  upon  every  word  with  great 
alertness. 

"Lord  Percy's  last  words  were,  'You  alone 
can  save  him,' "  the  girl  said,  in  conclusion. 

The  giant  thrust  his  huge  paws  into  his  pock- 
ets and  balanced  from  one  foot  to  the  other. 
Then  he  pursed  his  mouth  as  if  to  whistle,  but 
thought  better  of  it  and  swallowed  nothing  very 
visibly. 

"I  guess  he's  right.  Yew  alone  kin  save 
him, — with  us  to  help  yew." 

"Begorra,  if  Oi'd  said  thot  now,"  cried  Dan, 
"it  wud  'a'  been  all  roight;  but  for  a  borrn 
Yankee,  'You  alone  with  us  to  help  you,'  is  quare, 
to  say  the  laste." 

The  girl  smiled  faintly.  Then  she  turned  to 
Gookin  hopefully. 

"What  do  you  advise,  my  friend  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  guess  rd  like  to— think  a  little,"  he  re- 
plied. And  think  he  did,  if  there  was  any  virtue 

[4*81 


THE  TROOPS  DEPART 

in  a  half -hour's  pacing  up  and  down  with  knitted 
brows,  and  chewing  vigorously  a  bit  of  soft 
wood.  When  he  ceased  his  walk,  the  three  sat 
down  and  talked  long  and  earnestly  about  his 
plan.  The  men  escorted  Constance  to  her  home, 
then  separated,  going  in  different  directions. 
Neither  returned  to  MacAlpine's  armory  that 
night. 

The  next  day  Dan  came  to  the  Romney  house 
and  reported  that  although  the  British  were 
rapidly  getting  ready  to  leave,  the  actual  event 
could  not  yet  oe  dated. 

"  Gin'ral  Howe  has  a  proclamation  out  to 
shtop  plunderin',"  he  announced,  "and  says 
he'll  hang  any  soldier  caught,  but  they  kape  at 
it  jist  the  same."  Then  to  the  girl  he  whis- 
pered: "Not  yit,  darlint,"  and  hurried  away. 
On  Thursday  afternoon  he  came  in  evident 
haste  and  asked  to  see  Constance  alone. 

'  Ye'd  best  go  to  him  to-noight,"  he  said.   "  A 
proclamation's  to  be  made  by  crier  in  the  morn- 
m'  to  kape  the  payple  indoors  all  day.'* 
'  You  are  sure  that  everything  is  — 

"Sure,  Constance,  sure.  Long  Toby's  a 
wonder,  and — butOi  must  be  goin  ,  darlint." 

The  day  wore  to  darkness  at  last,  and  Con- 
stance set  out  for  the  warehouse  with  the  dog 
Queue.  Happily  she  and  her  escort  passed 
without  interruption  through  the  disordered 
streets.  At  the  door  her  permit  to  enter  was 
examined  with  such  deliberation  that  her  heart 
beat  so  fiercely  that  she  thought  her  bosom 
must  burst,  After  a  long  consultation,  a  higher 

[429] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

officer  admitted  the  trembling  girl,  and  she  was 
once  more  enfolded  in  the  arms  of  her  soldier 
lover.  But  she  unflinchingly  cut  short  his  rhap- 
sodies of  joy  at  seeing  her  again. 

"The  time  allowed  me  is  limited,"  she  de- 
clared, "and  this  is  my  last  visit  before —  Oh, 
John,  it  is  death  if  we  fail!" 

"If  we  fail?  In  what?"  he  asked,  wonder- 
ingly.  She  gave  no  heed  to  the  question,  but 
brought  two  keys  from  their  hiding-place  in 
her  bosom  and  put  them  into  his  hands. 

"Can  you  hiae  these?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

*  Yes,  out  what  are  they  for?" 

"They  unlock  the  two  doors  that  lead  from 
here." 

"An  escape?"  he  whispered.  "But  the  sen- 
try?" 

"Turn  your  back,  sir,"  she  replied  sternly. 
But  curiosity  was  stronger  than  obedience,  and 
he  regarded  her  steadily.  "Just  a  moment, 
please,"  she  pleaded. 

Then  he  yielded,  and  a  strange  sound  as  of 
rended  garments  followed.  A  moment  more 
and  Constance  handed  him  a  sword  that  he  re- 
membered to  have  seen  at  her  uncle's  long  ago. 
He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"For  the  sentry,"  she  said  grimly.  "The 
example  of  the  wife  of  one  of  your  fellow-officers 
—  Mrs.  Knox  —  inspired  me.  Listen,  now, 
and  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  plan." 

Just  as  she  finished,  the  guard  rapped  at  the 
door  in  token  that  the  interview  was  over. 

"You  understand?"  she  asked,  in  a  whisper 
[430] 


THE  TROOPS  DEPART 

that  thrilled  him  to  the  soul.     In  it  lay  all  the 
possibilities  of  happiness  or  — 

"Perfectly,"  he  replied,  and  she  was  gone. 


Next  morning,  came  a  proclamation,  as  re- 
ported by  Dan  MacAlpine,  that  the  citizens 
must  keep  within  their  homes  until  nightfall, 
that  the  troops  might  not  be  hindered  in  their 
embarkation.  Constance  thought  it  best  not 
to  venture  forth,  and  so  the  day  was  passed  in 
an  agony  of  suspense.  Had  they  done  it  or  had 
they  failed?  she  asked  herself  and  Barbara  a 
thousand  times.  At  last,  in  the  afternoon,  came 
old  Dan  to  answer  her  question. 

"We  were  all  ready,'  he  said,  "but  the  wind 
sphrung  up  shtrong  from  the  aste,  and  they've 
abandoned  their  attimpt  to  imbark." 

On  Saturday,  Constance,  feeling  desperately 
that  she  must  be  out  and  moving  or  go  mad 
brooding  over  the  awful  problem  of  life  and 
death  in  which  John  Brandon  was  the  central 
figure,  spent  most  of  the  day  in  the  streets. 

The  town  was  in  an  uproar.  Drunken  sol- 
diers roamed  about,  plundering  the  small  shops, 
smashing  the  windows  of  houses,  and  defacing 
the  doors  with  mud  and  bayonet  thrusts.  Nor 
were  they  altogether  partisan,  for  the  bar  of  the 
British  Coffee  House  was  sacked  as  well  as  the 
cellars  of  the  Whig  taverns.  Several  fires  were 
set,  but  were  put  out  by  the  soberer  element. 
Never  had  Boston  witnessed  such  scenes  of  riot 
and  debauchery. 

[481] 


To  the  terrors  of  that  night  was  added  a  bom- 
bardment by  the  British  of  Nook's  Hill,  an 
eminence  nearer  the  town  than  Dorchester 
Heights,  and  which  the  Patriots  had  already 
begun  to  fortify.  Yankee  shells  fell  in  the  town, 
also,  smashing  and  tearing  through  some  of  the 
houses. 

Under  cover  of  all  this  uproar  and  confusion, 
Constance  fearlessly  made  her  way  to  the  vicinity 
of  John  Brandon's  prison.  She  was  nearly 
overcome  by  terror,  however,  when  someone 
seized  her  from  behind.  Then  came  a  dear, 
familiar,  angelically  reassuring  voice:  "'Tis  only 
me,  darlint.  But  this'll  niver  do.  Come  in 
here." 

And  the  stout  old  fencer  pushed  the  girl 
through  the  door  of  a  building  next  to  her  uncle's 
warehouse.  Then  he  closed  it  behind  them. 

"  We  don't  dare  show  a  loight,"  he  whispered, 
"but  Oi  know  the  way  loike  a  book." 

And,  indeed,  he  did,  for  in  a  moment  more 
the  two  were  standing  by  a  window  overlooking 
the  water. 

"Where  are  the  men  and  Gookin?"  asked 
Constance. 

"  Gookin's  prowlin'  around  for  news  —  the 
cliver  shpalpane.  The  min  are  —  here." 

In  the  broad  flare  of  light  that  came  from 
the  firing  of  a  mortar  on  a  floating  battery  not 
far  from  the  wharf,  the  girl  saw  the  shadowy 
figures  of  men  at  the  end  of  the  warehouse  floor. 
MacAlpine  chuckled  gaily. 

' There's  tin  of  'em,"  he  said  proudly,  "not 

[432] 


THE  TROOPS  DEPART 

countin'  me  and  Gookin,  and  wan  who's  on 
watch  opposite  the  Ronmey  warehouse.  An' 
ivery  mother's  son  av  'em  can  foight  loike  the 
divil." 

Then  he  told  her  of  the  practical  completion 
of  all  their  plans,  and  how  they  but  waited  the 
word  to  act.  Assuring  her,  in  his  hearty,  honest 
way,  that  nothing  had  been  left  undone,  he  sug- 
gested that  he  accompany  her  home.  But  to 
this  she  would  not  listen.  She  could  bear  any- 
thing rather  than  the  suspense  of  another  night. 

"Besides,"  she  said,  "the  soldiers  might  come 
while  you  are  gone,  and  then  what  would  hap- 
pen?"' 

'Ye're  roight,  mavourneen,"  he  admitted. 
"  Oi'll  make  ye  a  bit  av  a  bed  of  blankets  over  in 
the  corner  yonder." 

Reclining  on  her  "bit  of  a  bed,"  which  she 
declared  was  better  than  one  of  down,  Con- 
stance begged  for  more  details  of  the  plan  of 
rescue.  Then  Dan  told  her  how  the  instant  an 
officer  should  reach  the  prison  with  an  order  for 
the  men  on  guard  there  to  proceed  with  their 
captive  to  the  embarkation  point,  Brandon  was 
to  be  warned  by  the  setting  adrift  of  a  burning 
boat,  the  signal  agreed  upon. 

He  was  men  to  use  the  two  keys  Constance 
had  given  him,  and  make  his  way  to  the  watch- 
room,  silencing  the  sentry,  by  death  if  need  be. 
From  that  room  he  was  to  go  to  the  second  win- 
dow in  the  corridor,  from  which  the  shutters 
had  been  unhinged  on  the  outside.  These 
would  fall  at  sufficient  pressure.  This  window 

[433] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

looked  upon  a  space  between  the  Romney  ware- 
house and  the  one  in  which  they  were,  and  the 
moment  Brandon  made  his  appearance,  the 
well-armed  little  band  of  rescuers  would  rally 
for  his  defense. 

"And  a  moighty  foine  plan  it  is,  too,"  said 
MacAlpine,  as  he  ended  his  recital. 

"Pray  heaven  it  may  not  fail,"  murmured  the 
girl  fervently.  "But  why  do  you  wait?" 

"Because,  darlint,  the  confusion  of  the  sol- 
diers' dayparture  will  give  us  a  betther  chance." 

She  questioned  him  no  more,  and  after  a  little 
the  f aitnful  fellow  was  delighted  to  see  that  sleep 
had  fallen  upon  her  tired  eyes.  She  awoke  with 
the  sun,  refreshed  and  comforted,  although  she 
had  little  appetite  for  the  bread  and  cold  meat 
MacAlpine  forced  upon  her. 

Soon  Gookin  came  in  with  news  shining  in 
his  face. 

"They  hev  begun  to  embark,"  he  whispered. 
"Let  every  man  be  ready!" 

The  rescuers  seized  their  arms  and  formed 
themselves  into  a  semblance  of  military  order. 
Determined-looking  fellows  they  were,  Con- 
stance noted  with  satisfaction.  She  knew  that 
this  was  to  be  no  child's  play,  no  game  for  men 
who  were  squeamish  at  the  sight  01  blood.  For 
a  moment  she  wished  that  she  were  a  man  that 
she  might  strike  a  blow  for  the  one  she  loved; 
then  came  the  sweeter  thought  that  she  was  a 
woman,  waiting  for  the  man  who,  God  willing, 
was  to  be  saved. 

Some  of  the  little  band  she  knew,  for  several 

[434] 


THE  TROOPS  DEPART 

had  been  in  the  employ  of  her  uncle.  All  had 
been  detained  in  the  town  for  one  reason  or  an- 
other until  it  was  too  late  to  leave  it;  but  they 
were  none  the  less  Patriots  to  the  core. 

For  an  hour  or  more  they  all  waited  in  nearly 
absolute  silence,  the  men  giving  the  final  touches 
to  their  weapons,  and  the  girl  praying  for  some- 
thing, anything,  to  end  the  killing  suspense. 

Nine  o'clock  had  come,  when  there  sounded 
a  tap  at  one  of  the  windows.  It  was  the  signal 
of  their  sentry  outside. 

"An  officer  and  a  squad  of  men  have  turned 
the  corner,"  he  whispered. 

At  that  old  Dan  dashed  open  a  window  over 
the  water.  Another  man  struck  fire  from  flint 
into  tinder,  and  touched  the  burning  bit  into  a 
mass  of  inflammable  stuff  which  still  another 
thrust  hastily  out  of  the  window. 

"  'Tis  in  the  boat,  hiven  be  praised ! "  exclaimed 
MacAlpine,  sticking  his  head  outside  for  a  mo- 
ment's observation.  Then  he  slashed  at  a  rope 
with  his  sword,  and  a  dark,  smoky  something 
floated  away  with  the  gentle  ebb  of  the  tide. 

"Now,  darlint,  don't  ye  move,"  warned  the 
old  fellow,  in  a  hoarse  whisper.  "Good  'cess 
to  us  all;  Oi'm  off."  And  out  of  a  window  he 
leaped  to  join  the  rest  of  the  band,  who  had  pre- 
ceded him  by  the  same  sort  of  exit. 

Constance  clenched  her  teeth  and  waited. 
She  could  hear  the  clatter  of  footsteps,  the  rattle 
of  arms,  the  challenge  of  the  sentry,  but  no  sign 
came  from  the  window  where  John  Brandon 
should  make  his  appearance.  What  if  he  had 

[485] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

not  seen  the  smoky  signal  ?  What  if  he  had  been 
overpowered,  —  killed  ?  It  was  almost  more 
than  her  brain  could  bear.  She  felt  that  she 
must  cry  out,  must  scream  to  her  lover  that  his 
time  for  escape  had  come. 

But  all  at  once  a  strange  stillness  warned 
her  of  some  new  phase  of  the  situation.  She 
leaned  far  out  and  looked  down  the  open  space. 
At  one  end  were  the  rescuers,  doing  nothing. 
MacAlpine  and  Gookin  were  talking  together, 
their  faces  showing  the  anxiety  they  felt.  Finally, 
at  a  sign  from  the  giant,  one  of  the  men  pried 
open  the  shutters  from  one  of  the  prison  win- 
dows, and  after  a  little  they  came  tumbling  down 
into  the  arms  of  the  others. 

MacAlpine  climbed  up  and  looked  into  the 
window. 

"  He's  gone,  asOi'm  anOirishman,"  he  shouted, 
throwing  caution  to  the  winds.  "Begorra, 
ph what's  to  be  done  now?" 

"Follow  me,"  cried  Gookin,  waving  his  huge 
sword  fiercely.  "A  rescue,  a  rescue!" 

The  Patriot  band  rushed  pell-mell  down  the 
narrow  courtyard,  and  were  lost  to  view  around 
the  corner. 

But  that  they  had  not  rushed  without  result 
was  clear  to  the  agonized  girl,  for  from  the  street 
came  hoarse  shouts,  fierce  oaths,  the  ring  of  steel 
and  the  sound  of  firearms.  Death  for  someone, 
she  knew,  was  in  that  terrifying  uproar  —  but 
for  whom  ?  She  could  no  longer  bear  up  under 
her  weight  of  foreboding,  and  sank  in  a  help 
less,  senseless  heap  upon  the  floor, 

[436] 


THE  TROOPS  DEPART 

Back  to  earth  she  came,  she  knew  not  when, 
to  find  herself  being  raised  by  two  strong,  loving 
arms,  and  to  see  a  dear  face  bending  close  to  her 
own.  That  it  was  flushed,  and  stained,  and 
scratched,  she  did  not  realize,  nor  would  have 
cared  in  any  event.  It  was  the  countenance  of 
love,  and  that  was  heaven  itself. 

"You  are  safe?"  she  asked  gently,  after  a 
long  embrace. 

MacAlpine  answered  for  him. 

"  He's  as  safe  as  a  trivit,  darlint.  An*  the  rid- 
coats  '11  run  all  the  way  to  Chapeside  if  there's 
good  walkinV ' 

Then  the  girl  laughed,  a  clear,  pearly,  mirthful 
laugh,  the  first  that  had  come  from  her  throat 
for  many  a  day.  She  ran  to  Dan  MacAlpine 
and  kissed  the  delighted  old  fellow  so  heartily  that 
he  never  forgot  it,  and  then  off  to  the  front  of  the 
warehouse  she  must  go,  because  she  wanted  to 
see  the  redcoats  —  going  out!  The  others  fol- 
lowed lest  she  become  too  bold. 

Just  as  she  reached  the  window  a  couple  of 
MacAlpine's  men  went  by,  carrying  something 
toward  the  water.  Old  Dan  nudged  the  young 
officer,  who  drew  the  girl  away;  but  not  before 
she  had  seen  that  the  face  of  the  dead  man  was 
that  of  Captain  Jack  Mowatt,  "pride  of  the 
Tenth."  She  shuddered,  but  no  longer  with 
dread. 

But  Dan  MacAlpine  was  curious  to  know 
something  he  had  not  yet  understood. 

"Till  me,  John, — Oi  mane  Major,"  he  said, 
"phwhy  didn't  ye  kape  to  our  plan,  instead  of 

1487] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

foightin'  yer  way  out,  and  jump  through  the 
windy  here?" 

"Because,  Dan,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  "I 
found  a  grating  on  the  inside." 

The  Irishman  stroked  his  chin  in  profound 
thought.  He  frowned,  he  screwed  up  his  lips, 
he  half  closed  his  eyes.  Then  a  flicker  of  a 
smile  began  to  creep  over  his  rosy  face,  ending 
at  last  in  a  broad  grin. 

"Be  the  powers,"  he  exclaimed,  *fOi  niver 
thought  of  thot,  now  did  Oi  ?" 


[488J 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

"AIVs  Wellyy 

WHEN  dusk  had  come  down  over  the  town, 
the  little  party  at  the  water-front  thought 
it  safe  to  venture  forth,  and  thence  to  the  Rom- 
ney  mansion  they  went,  Constance  leaning  upon 
the  arm  of  John  Brandon  with  a  wholly  new  air 
of  dependence  more  sweet  than  anything  she 
had  ever  felt. 

There  was  a  joyful  reunion  in  the  fine  old 
house,  to  be  sure,  with  a  vociferous  welcome 
from  Queue  and  great  hilarity  on  the  part  of 
Pompey,  as  well  as  the  deeper  gratitude  of  Giles 
Romney  and  his  wife,  who  had  not  closed  their 
eyes  since  Constance  disappeared.  Only  pretty 
Barbara  seemed  out  of  tune  with  the  delight  of 
the  rest. 

"/  know,  you  rogue,"  whispered  Constance 
to  her  as  she  pinched  her  cheek.  "Lieutenant 
Cuyler  has  gone  with  the  rest  of  the  invaders. 
Don't  you  worry.  He'll  be  back  again." 

Barbara  bridled  and  blushed. 

"That  he  will,"  she  replied  stoutly.  "As 
soon  as  the  war  is  over,  he  says." 

"Pray  heaven  that  may  be  soon,  Bab,  for  your 
sake  —  and  the  country's,"  said  Mistress  Drake 
fervently. 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

On  Wednesday  came  the  main  body  of  the 
American  army,  with  a  new  flag  flying,  and  all 
the  fifes  and  drums  playing  "  Yankee  Doodle"  as 
frantically  as  if  the  tune  nad  never  been  heard 
in  town  before.  The  citizens  greeted  the  Amer- 
ican soldiers  with  sedate  satisfaction. 

"You  don't  seem  any  too  glad  to  see  us,"  said 
Jonathan  Thomas,  barber,  to  MacAlpine,  as  he 
deposited  his  gun  on  the  paving  in  a  temporary 
halt. 

"Phwat  do  ye  want  us  to  do?"  asked  the 
fencer.  "Dance  a  jig?  We've  been  suffering, 
d'ye  moind." 

But  whatever  the  conservatism  of  the  people 
of  Boston,  there  was  no  gainsaying  the  jollity  of 
the  country  folk  and  refugees  who  poured  into 
town  in  the  wake  of  the  army,  shouting,  cheer- 
ing, singing,  parading  the  streets,  making  them- 
selves at  home  in  the  houses  of  the  Tones  who 
had  sailed  away  into  exile  with  the  defeated 
army,  and  thronging  the  taverns,  where  great 
tubs  of  punch  were  brewed  and  given  to  all  who 
would  drink.  And  this  wild  outburst  of  pa- 
triotic joy  had  its  effect  at  last,  and  the  whole  of 
the  sober  seaport  woke  to  the  splendid  fact  that 
the  foot  of  the  oppressor  had  been  lifted  from 
its  soil  to  return  no  more. 

On  the  second  night  after  the  arrival  of  the 
American  troops,  the  place  blazed  with  a  general 
illumination.  On  the  hills  roundabout  huge 
bonfires  threw  up  their  tongues  of  flame  in  exul- 
tation, while  rockets,  beehives,  and  serpents 
flared  in  every  quarter  of  the  town.  In  the 

(440] 


"ALL'S  WELL" 

square  near  Faneuil  Hall  an  enormous  pyramid 
of  lanthorns  was  erected,  and  around  it  the  "jubi- 
lant crowds  gathered  to  hear  the  music  01  the 
bands  and  tne  speeches  of  some  of  the  lesser 
lights  of  oratory. 

Thither  went  John  Brandon  and  Constance 
Drake,  happy  in  the  relief  of  Boston,  but  hap- 
pier still  in  the  rich  promise  of  their  love.  And 
when,  at  last,  midnight  was  announced  by  the 
taps  of  drums  and  the  crowds  began  to  disperse, 
they  walked  slowly  toward  old  Komney's  hos- 
pitable dwelling,  wishing  it  were  miles  away, 
that  they  might  go  on  and  on  in  the  night.  Yet 
they  were  silent  in  their  great  happiness  until 
Brandon  spoke  what  was  nearest  his  soul. 

"When  shall  it  be,  dearest?"  he  asked  ten- 
derly, clasping  the  little  hand  that  lay  so  con- 
fidingly upon  his  arm.  "You  know  I  shall  soon 
be  called  away  with  the  troops." 

"What,  leave  me  again — and  soon?"  she 
cried. 

"I  must,  dear,"  he  replied,  with  a  thrill  of 
exaltation  in  his  voice,  "'tis  my  duty.  When 
will  you  be  my  wife?" 

"  October  is  a  nice  month,  John,"  she  said 
demurely.  How  could  he  see  that  her  eyes  were 
dancing  with  fun  ? 

"October!"  he  exclaimed  in  dismay,  "why, 
I— 

Then  she  laughed  outright  with  the  merriest, 
sweetest  inflection  he  had  ever  heard.  Besides 
which,  she  gave  his  hand  an  adorable  squeeze 

[441] 


MY  LADY  LAUGHTER 

that  made  his  pulse  beat  faster  than  did  ever 
the  approach  of  an  enemy. 

"Oh,  well,  you  goose,  how  will  to-morrow 
do?"  she  asked. 

It  would  do;  there  was  no  doubt  of  that,  for 
the  sudden  folding  of  the  girl  in  his  arms  proved 
it. 

"John,  John,  what  would  folks  say  if  they 
should  see  us?"  she  protested. 

"That  I  was  the  luckiest  fellow  in  the  world," 
he  replied  proudly. 

Then  on  they  went  through  the  now  almost 
silent  streets.  Only  the  faint  glow  from  the 
embers  of  one  of  the  hill  fires  remained  of  all 
the  earlier  riot  of  light  and  flame.  Suddenly, 
from  a  sentry  posted  not  far  away,  came  the 
cry,  "All's  well."  Then  from  another  and  an- 
other, "All's  well,"  fainter  and  fainter,  till  at 
last  like  the  sound  of  a  phantom  voice,  "  A-a-ll's 
w-e-e-11,"  quivered  upon  the  air. 

And  that  cry  of  faith  and  courage  found  an- 
swer in  both  their  hearts. 


[44*] 


A     000  045  26: 


